Tasting
by pearlofdelight
Summary: "What if we have irreconcilably different tastes?" he asked. "You need to try me out and decide if you want to keep me. You know, as your baker. You have a right to sample before you commit, and I swear, we do this all the time. As long as we find something you like in the end, I'm happy to do it, no charge." Contemp. AU. Katniss needs a fancy cake; Peeta's got the goods.
1. Chapter 1

Tasting (Chapter 1)

Peeta wiped distractedly at the light dusting of flour on the counter. Flour got everywhere, even on the front counter after a few hours. Even on the tables a little by the end of the day. It was just one of those things about bakeries, like how it was always hot in the summertime, even with the air on full blast. Bakers needed ovens—fire—even when it was hot enough outside to roast a person alive.

He slid his forearm across his forehead, but it only smeared the sweat that had formed there instead of wiping it away. He tossed his cleaning rag into the bucket of disinfectant in the sink and grabbed his soda from the shelf below the counter. On days like this, he always stopped at the corner liquor store for a large soda before coming in for his shift. He'd get the big cup, fill it to the brim with ice, and then top it off with orange soda. The habit would likely kill him someday, but it was hard to be bothered by the idea when it was the one thing that helped him survive the long, hot summers.

He took several long sips and turned to lean against the counter, looking up at the tired old menu on the wall and the faded, grainy 90's posters of cakes that had been blighting the bakery's wall for two decades now. The menu he thought he might be able to fix with some paint. But he wondered how much it would cost to get someone to take new photos and print up new posters for them. Mellark's had a solid enough reputation in the city, and new walk-ins were always happy with anything they ordered from the cases, but they never seemed to trust them with anything beyond. And it was the _beyond_ parts that Peeta loved the most about his job.

He closed his eyes and let himself start to envision the kind of cake he'd be proud to advertise on a poster if he ever got the chance. He was picturing a delicate bouquet of perfectly lifelike flowers on top, maybe seeded with sugar pearls, when a voice snapped him away from his vision.

"I need a cake."

Peeta flinched and accidentally squeezed his cup. Ice and watery orange soda sloshed onto the floor, and a little onto his pants.

" _Shit_ ," Peeta said, setting the cup aside and grabbing a clean towel. He turned and looked up at the girl on the other side of the counter to apologize, and his heart nearly stopped. _Shit_. She was scowling, and it made him wonder just how long she'd been standing there. "I'm sorry," he said, mind dangerously near the precipice of blankness. "I didn't hear you come in. By 'shit,' I obviously meant 'Welcome,' and 'how may I help you?'" He dabbed at his pants and then mopped up the small puddle from the floor.

When he stood up again, her scowl hadn't budged.

It didn't matter. He was a connoisseur of her scowls. And besides—she was here.

Peeta Mellark been making a secret study of Katniss Everdeen ever since the first grade. That year he'd learned her favorite color (green), he'd learned that she was great at tag and capture the flag because she was small and fast and quiet, and he'd learned that her singing voice was like hot cocoa on a cold winter day. It was like the color blue if blue could give you a hug. He'd have traded her the cookie in his lunch every day for the rest of his life in exchange for one line of a song—if he'd ever been brave enough to actually talk to her.

And later, in junior high, he learned that her dad had died, but he learned it slow. He learned that she stopped getting lunch at the cafeteria and started bringing it from home instead. He learned that she only smiled anymore when she was walking her sister home at the end of the school day. He learned that she buried herself under layers of clothes because most of hers had holes in them and because her jacket wasn't warm enough for winter. That was when Delly had mentioned it.

"She doesn't ever eat her lunch," she said one day, like it was a secret she'd been worrying over.

"Who?" Peeta asked, washing down the last of his ham and cheese sandwich with some apple juice.

"That girl. The one with the braid, in the corner."

"You mean Katniss?" he asked. He'd blushed—it was the first time he'd ever said her name out loud.

Delly leaned forward. "She takes out her sandwich, tears it into smaller pieces, and then puts the pieces back into the bag. She pretends to chew and swallow, but none of it ever actually reaches her mouth."

Peeta turned to watch her. "Maybe she doesn't like the kind of sandwich her mom packs."

"I don't think there's even anything in it," Delly said quietly. "I think it's just bread."

Peeta studied her more closely after that, but he did his best to hide it. Delly was right. She brought two pieces of bread with her every day in place of a real lunch, and she never ate them. They always went back into her lunch bag, and her lunch bag went back into her backpack. She chewed strawberry gum for the rest of the day and drank water from her water bottle. She was losing weight, and her hair was getting thinner.

The knowledge of it threatened to shatter him. He'd asked Delly what she thought they could do.

"If you try to help, she'll run," Delly had said. "She doesn't want anyone to know anything's wrong. That's why she pretends."

He needed to find a way to help her without embarrassing her or letting on that he was concerned.

He failed.

He'd screwed up his courage and taken his sandwich—turkey on wheat with cranberry mustard—over to her.

"Hey, you don't want this sandwich, do you?" he'd asked.

She'd frozen, mid-fake-chew, and glanced up at him.

Under the influence of proximity and the appraisal of her cool, gray eyes, his voice had gone up a little higher than normal, and the lie he'd carefully prepared came out in a rush. "My dad accidentally packed me two sandwiches. I already asked a bunch of other people, but they said they didn't want it. So do you? Want it?"

She fake-swallowed.

 _Take it. Please take it._ "It's turkey. It's really good, I swear. My dad made the bread fresh this morning at the bakery, and he makes the cranberry mustard sauce himself."

She glanced down and folded the top of her lunch bag back down. "No thanks," she said. "I accidentally got two sandwiches today, too."

Peeta's heart wrenched. The arm offering her the sandwich drooped. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," she said, putting her lunch bag back in her backpack and zipping it up. "I'm full."

She ran. He'd let her down.

At the end of the following week, he'd been taking out the trash at the bakery after school when he'd seen her in the alleyway, trying to lift the dumpster lid. She was too short to really lift it high enough for her to see inside, let alone pull anything out of it. When she saw him, she startled and let the lid slam down.

The moment knit them together in a kind of horrible understanding.

He didn't know what to say or what to do, but she was past the point of lies.

"Please don't tell anyone," she said, her eyes reddening with tears. "I can't even reach it, so it doesn't matter. I'm not stealing. It's just trash." Tears fell down her cheeks.

Peeta set his trash bag down, and she eyed it. "What were you looking for?" he asked. "I can hold the dumpster lid open for you if you want."

She shook her head and took a step back. "I only—I just need—"

He tried his best to look non-threatening. He put his hands in his pockets and scuffed his sneaker against the asphalt.

"I was hoping for old bread," she said, her voice crumbling as if crushed by a great weight. "Or—or maybe the last few bites of someone's sandwich." She started to retreat, and his heart sank. " _Please_. Don't tell anyone."

He smiled gently. "I can do you one better. Come inside, and you can have your own sandwich."

She shook her head and began to back away again. "I don't have any money."

He frowned. "Well then how about I get myself a sandwich, and then I'll give it to you."

"Forget it—I need to get home," she said, turning down the alleyway.

"Wait!" he said, running to catch up with her. "I swear, it'll be okay, and you won't owe me anything, and I won't say anything to anyone about—about anything you might be worried about. My dad won't care—we eat half our meals from the bakery anyway. No one will care that I had two sandwiches today. I do that sometimes anyway." He blushed, realizing how insensitive he must sound. And he cringed to find himself trying to convince her that anything about her situation was _normal_ or _okay_. There was nothing _okay_ about starvation. "Look," he said, trying again. "I know you wouldn't be here if you didn't need help. I know you wouldn't have said anything if it weren't—" he swallowed a lump in his throat. "If you could have found any other option."

Katniss hid her face in her hands.

"It's okay, Katniss," he begged. "Just let me help. Okay?"

She nodded, tears silently streaking her face.

He led her to the back door and through the kitchen to the storage room. He shifted some boxes so she'd have a place to sit, and then he handed her some paper towels so she could wipe her face and blow her nose.

"I'll only be a minute, okay? Just in there, in the kitchen."

She nodded.

As quickly as he could, he put together a sandwich, adding extra turkey, extra cheese, and extra cranberry sauce for good measure. The rich, brown bread had nuts and seeds and little bits of dried fruit in it. Then he grabbed a carton of chocolate milk from the fridge. This was a gamble—she'd always gotten chocolate milk at school until she'd started bringing her own lunch. He hoped she still liked it.

She did. When he brought her the food, she downed the milk first, and it brought more tears to her eyes. She seemed almost afraid to start on the sandwich, so Peeta encouraged her to eat and told her he'd go get her more to drink.

"More milk?" he asked.

"Just water," she said, wiping her nose.

"You sure? We have juice and iced tea, too."

She shook her head. "Just water."

He decided he'd put a few slices of lemon in at least, maybe some mint or basil. He couldn't give Katniss Everdeen just plain water.

He was at the sink, washing some mint leaves, when his father returned from his afternoon deliveries.

"Peet, you did it again," he said, a tired note of warning in his voice.

"Did what?" he asked, dropping the leaves into the glass of water he'd prepared.

"The trash. The bag is sitting in the middle of the alleyway, not ten feet from the dumpster."

"I'm really sorry," Peeta said. "I'll take care of it in a couple of minutes, okay?"

"Or now?" his father prompted. "You get distracted taking the garbage out—how do I know you won't get distracted in a few minutes and forget?"

Peeta lowered his voice. "I'm helping a friend right now. I swear, it wasn't that I got distracted. This was just more important. You can dock my allowance this week if you want."

His father sighed and removed his Mellark's hat, running his fingers through his grey-blond curls. "Which friend?"

"It's a girl from school. Her name's Katniss."

His father scrubbed at the stubble on his chin. "Katniss, huh?"

"Yeah," Peeta said. "I need to take her this water."

His father looked at the glass and shook his head. "She need anything else?"

"Not right now. I made her a sandwich. That's okay, right?"

"Did you make one for her little sister, too?"

Peeta's heart sank. "I didn't think of it."

"I'll whip something up."

Peeta set the glass down on the counter and hugged his dad.

His father ran his hand over Peeta's curls and squeezed his shoulders before sending him off again to the storage room.

Katniss had eaten half of the sandwich by the time he got there, but she was in the process of wrapping up the other half. He handed her the glass of water.

"You can eat the whole thing," he said softly. "My dad's making another one for your little sister."

Katniss took several big gulps of the water. "I'm full," she said at last.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked.

She shot him a look. "Do I look like I want to talk about it?"

"You look like you could use a friend."

She took another gulp of water. "Look, you don't have to do this. I'm sorry I came here. I was just thinking about that sandwich from last week, and my feet kind of brought me here without me even thinking about it. It was stupid. I can figure this out on my own."

"You don't have to, though," Peeta protested. "Whatever it is."

She finished the glass of water and set the glass down on the shelf next to her. Then she shoved the remnants of her sandwich into her hoodie pocket.

"No one can know," she said again. "I need you to _swear_."

"I can't," he said. "Not unless you swear you'll come back here or let me know somehow if you need help again."

"I won't need help again," she said, standing.

He stood too. "You don't have to—"

She grabbed his arm. "I need you to swear, Peeta."

He searched her eyes, but he found his own resolve going steely. He couldn't do it—not if he knew she was in trouble and couldn't find a way to help her.

She let go of his arm, a scowl sliding onto her face where before there had been that terrible grief.

She pushed past him and into the kitchen and made a beeline for the back door.

"Katniss Everdeen?" his father had called out.

Her scowl deepened into a mixture of betrayal and fury as she glanced at Peeta.

He shook his head slightly, denying her unspoken accusation.

Peeta's dad made his way over to them with two large paper bags and set them on the counter. "I meant to bring these by a few months ago. I don't have a good excuse for not doing it sooner, but I still want you to have them. Your papa, he was a good man—the very best. He was a hero, but I know that doesn't make it any easier. I'm real sorry about what happened. I want you to know you can come to us anytime for anything, you hear? Even if it's just a quick pick-me-up in the form of a sugar cookie for that little doll of a sister of yours, no questions asked. The whole town owes your family for what your dad did, and it's time we started trying to repay that debt."

Peeta's cheeks went hot, and he had trouble lifting his eyes. How had he not known?

Katniss's face, however, had grown stony during this speech. Wordlessly, she stepped to the counter and peered down into one of the bags, and Peeta did the same. There were a few loaves of bread—cinnamon raisin, honey wheat, and sourdough—rosemary rolls, peanut butter cookies, three different sandwiches, and at the bottom of one bag, even an apple pie.

It was too much. Peeta knew it.

Katniss shook her head and touched the bulge in her hoodie pocket. "It's alright. I've got half a sandwich."

Peeta's father smiled, and it was like watching the last nail being hammered into a coffin. "Half a sandwich won't feed three women as strong as the Everdeen girls."

Katniss's eyes went wide in fear.

"Two bags like this could last you a week, but you're welcome to bring them back anytime for a refill. I won't have any reason to make a fuss as long as I know you're all getting enough."

Anger and humiliation made her cheeks flush. She grabbed one of the bags from the counter and ran out the back door.

Peeta grabbed the second bag and followed her. He caught up to her, but she didn't acknowledge him.

"I'm really sorry," he said.

"About what?" she spat. "About how pathetic I am?"

"No," he said. "I'm sorry my dad said that. And I'm really sorry about your dad. I didn't know."

She increased her pace. "Stop following me."

"I'm not," he said. "You forgot a bag."

"I didn't forget it. I don't need any more of your help, Judas."

Peeta stopped. "I didn't say anything. I swear."

She kept walking.

"I _swear_."

He jogged to catch up with her again. "Where are we even going? How far is your house?"

"Sixth street. The far end."

"Let's take the bus, then," he said, out of breath. His brothers teased him about being the chubby one of the family, but his dad assured him that he probably had a growth spurt coming on soon. All the same, it didn't make keeping up with her any easier. "I have money, and it'll only cost like a dollar-fifty."

Katniss stopped so suddenly that he almost collided with her. "I never asked for your help, I don't _want_ your friendship, and _I don't need your charity_. You can take the bus wherever you want as long as it's away from me and my family."

She grabbed the bag out of his arms and balanced it against her other hip before she turned and stalked off down the street.

The venom in her words stung Peeta to the heart. He cursed himself for being such an insensitive idiot. "I'm sorry!" he called after her.

She didn't acknowledge that she'd heard, but he knew she must have. It mattered to him that she did. He watched her go until she disappeared around the corner.

She never came back to refill the bags. She never came back to the bakery at all, and it kept him up at night sometimes with worry. She avoided him at school, but he noticed in the weeks that followed that she'd actually eat at least half her lunch. He didn't know where it came from, but sometimes she brought cold pepperoni and olive pizza, and she would eat the whole slice. He was relieved that someone seemed to be taking care of her, but he was sorry that it couldn't have been him.

They'd managed through a kind of mutual, unspoken agreement to avoid each other in high school, though doing so meant he was often hyper aware of where she was and what she was doing and with whom. She took up company with a rougher crowd—with Leevy Johnson and Johanna Mason and Thom Bolinger, and with Gale Fucking Hawthorne. Peeta as a general rule tried not to hate anyone, but he really hated that guy. He hated seeing him put his arm around Katniss in the hallways or tugging on her braid or taking a swig out of her chocolate milk. Peeta tried not to obsess about it, but he still cared what happened to her. He still wanted to see her smile without sarcasm or venom or scorn. When he happened to accidentally catch her eye, she gave him a glance that told him he wasn't worth the effort it would take to flip him off. He always glanced away first, always blushed.

Delly told him multiple times that he was an idiot for caring so much. He agreed with her, but it didn't stop him from caring.

So when she showed up at the bakery again, finally after all this time—after junior high and high school and two years of college—Peeta still felt like an idiot. He still cared far more than he ought to about how she was and how her family was getting along, and, stupidly, what she thought of him. It seemed she didn't think much given the scowl on her face and the way her eyes fixated on the orange soda stain on his pants.

He quickly grabbed a half-apron from the peg on the wall and tied it around his waist.

She crossed her arms over her chest and looked up. "I said I need a cake," she repeated. She uncrossed her arms and shoved her hands in her pockets.

Peeta let out a breath and grabbed the order pad and a pen from beneath the counter. "Great," he said. "I can help you with that."

"Did you do those cakes in the pictures?" she asked, nodding to the walls.

"How old do you think I am?" he said with a smirk. "I'm pretty sure those were made during the Bush administration. The first one, I mean."

She crossed her arms again. "What I meant was if I order a cake from you, it's not going to look like those, right? I'm asking if you make _good_ cakes."

He let out a single laugh. "Yeah, I make good cakes. I can make anything you want."

She raised a skeptical eyebrow.

He leaned across the counter and raised an eyebrow to match hers. "Try me."

"Fine. I want the most beautiful cake you can think of. Three tiers, white cake, lemon filling, flowers and shit all over it. I don't know how to describe it—it just has to be gorgeous. Can you do it?"

He thought about making a joke about not usually being in the habit of putting shit all over a cake, but he decided she might not think it was funny, and then she might leave, and then she'd probably never come back. He didn't want her to leave. So he nodded. "Yeah, I think I have some ideas. What kind of frosting were you thinking? Buttercream? Fondant?"

A hand unfolded itself to scratch at her neck. "I don't know. I don't really eat cake very much."

He paused from his notations and glanced up. "This is for a special occasion, then?"

"I don't buy three-tier cakes on a whim," she said.

"I meant to ask what the occasion is," he said with a smile.

Her hands went back to her pockets. He'd never seen her so nervous before. "It's for my sister. She's turning sixteen next month."

Peeta felt his face light up. "That's wonderful. Do you know what kind of frosting she likes?"

Katniss fiddled with the zipper on the jacket. "I have no idea. We haven't had a lot of room for luxuries in our lives over the years. I want this year to be really special, but I don't know what I'm doing."

Peeta tapped the pen against his chin. "I'd be happy to make up a few samples so she could come in and try them beforehand."

"Actually," she said, glancing out the front window, "it's a surprise. I'm throwing her a surprise party. She's always wanted one. So I think a tasting might ruin the fun a little." She offered him a nervous wisp of a smile, and Peeta wondered if he'd even be able to withstand the full-watt version if he was ever lucky enough to witness it.

Blankness was gathering his brain into its embrace. "That makes sense," he said stupidly.

"So I don't really care as long as it tastes good," she said. "I trust you to choose something good. You need anything else?" She tapped a finger on the countertop.

He'd been staring at her mouth, but this snapped him back to reality. "When's the party?"

Katniss blushed. "Right, that would be helpful. August 14th."

"Any writing you want on the cake? 'Happy Birthday, Prim' or something?"

Her eyes searched his for a moment. "No. It's gotta be sophisticated. Grown-up. She always loved the wedding cakes you guys used to put up in the window. That's why it needs to be three-tier. It's gotta be anti-generic. It has to be _beautiful_." Her eyes and her voice had grown fierce. She smoothed her fingers over the counter. "I want it to be everything she ever wanted but couldn't have when we were younger. I want her eyes to light up when she sees it, and I want her to remember the way it tastes for the rest of her life."

Peeta nodded and jotted down some keywords. He loved the idea of it, loved what it stood for, loved her passion, and his mind was already spinning fast with possibilities.

"So?" she asked when he finished.

"So?" he repeated.

"Do you think you can do it?"

He tucked the pen behind his ear. "I hope so. It's a lot to live up to, but I love a challenge. The only thing is that I don't know your sister very well, and since I can't ask her about her preferences, I'd like to run a couple of options by you before we settle on something final. Do you think you could come by a week from today? Same time?"

Katniss checked the clock on the wall, as if she had no idea what time it was. "Yeah, should be fine. Can you give me an estimate, though? How much it'll be?"

"That'll depend on some of the things we'll decide next week. I can give you a range of differently priced options, if you like."

She took a step back from the counter. "That won't be necessary. I'll pay whatever it costs. The cake needs to be perfect."

"Then we'll make it perfect," he said with a smile.

She gave him that nervous half-smile again, and he thought he'd be willing to spill orange soda on his crotch in front of her every day for the rest of his life if it kept her smiling at him like that.

"Is there anything else I can do for you today?" he asked.

"No," she said, retreating. "Thank you."

"You sure?" he asked. "A cookie for the road? Iced tea? It's hot out there."

"No, I'm fine," she said. "Thank you." Her hand was on the door.

"I'll see you next week, then," he called after her.

She didn't answer. He wondered if she'd really come back.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks so much for your follows, favs, and reviews! I'm hoping to post updates every Monday. Here's chapter 2!**

She _did_ come back.

It was hotter than hell out, and Peeta was sure she'd decided to blow him off, but then there she was—half an hour late, standing there looking impossibly cool in black shorts and a tank top, waiting for him to finish helping Mrs. Cartwright fill a box of assorted pastries for her quilting group. She sat down at one of the tables and fiddled with her phone.

Peeta sent Mrs. Cartwright off with a smile, a joke, and a good-natured wave, and then he turned to Katniss.

"I'll be right out, okay?" he asked. "I just need to grab some samples from the back. Can I get you something to drink?"

"Water would be great," she said.

Peeta ducked into the kitchen and wiped his dripping face with a clean dishcloth. He quickly sliced some lemon and washed some mint for their water, filling the glasses mostly with ice to combat the suffocating heat. He loaded up a tray with the waters, a couple of forks, and the three mini cakes he'd made for her, and then made his way back out to the front, letting Rye know that he was doing a cake consult and he might need to cover the counter if anyone came in.

As he set the tray down at Katniss's table, she stiffened. "What is this?"

"A tasting," he said. "I figured if we're aiming for perfect, then we have to consider every part of this project from the ground up. We can't walk into it blindly, can we?" He set one of the glasses of water in front of her and took a long sip from the other.

"How much does this cost?" she asked, staring at the three little cakes.

He shrugged. "It's just a consultation. It's free."

"You made _three cakes_. It can't be free. Please don't lie to me." Her hand was on her phone, like she was ready to flee.

"I'm not, I swear," he said. Her eyes narrowed at him. "What if you don't like any of them? What if we have irreconcilably different tastes? You need to try me out and decide if you want to keep me. You know, as your baker." He blushed and mentally scolded himself. He needed to watch his tongue a little more carefully. His words seemed to twist in unpredictable ways when he talked to her. "I just mean that a fancy cake is a big, important purchase. You have a right to sample before you commit, and I swear, we do this all the time for special orders. I've done eighteen samples before for one bride who couldn't make up her mind. As long as we find something you like in the end, I'm happy to do it, no charge."

Katniss didn't say anything. She just took a careful sip of her water.

Peeta rubbed his hands together nervously. "So I realized after you left last week that I forgot to ask if you or Prim have any allergies."

She folded her hands neatly on the table. "Only to my sister's spiteful cat."

"Great," he said with a laugh. "Since no cats were harmed in the making of these cakes, we should hopefully be okay on that front. Okay, so last week when we talked you said white cake, lemon filling, and we had a big question mark for the frosting. For today I went ahead and made the white/lemon combo with the frosting I thought would go best with it." He pushed the first plate toward her. "Want to give it a try?"

She picked up a fork and speared a piece hesitantly. "Am I doing this by myself?"

Peeta picked up the other fork and took a big wedge for himself. He stuck it in his mouth with a smile. The lemon curd burst with brightness across his tongue.

Katniss's eyebrows bore down into a frown. As an amateur collector of Katniss's facial expressions, Peeta wondered what this one might mean.

"Thoughts?" he asked.

"It tastes like sunshine," she said, still frowning. "How did you do that?"

He laughed. "Baker's secrets," he teased. "That's a light cream cheese frosting. I thought it would mellow out the tartness of the lemon and add some creaminess without being overly sweet. I added a thin layer beneath the lemon curd, too."

He waited for her to say more, and his heart flipped when instead she reached for a second bite.

She closed her mouth around it and closed her eyes as she chewed. "This is perfect. Prim will love it."

"Are you sure?" he asked. "I could change anything you like. I made it with sponge cake, but it could be vanilla or lemon or angel food or anything really."

"I like it how it is," she said, wiping at invisible crumbs at the edge of her mouth. "It's moist and delicate, and it goes really well with the lemon."

"What about the frosting?" he asked. "I could do meringue, or lots of other options. We could also try something flavored."

"I think it's really good the way it is," she said, taking a third bite.

He took a second for himself. "I'm glad. But I still want you to try the other cakes, if that's okay."

She shrugged and washed down her bite with a sip of water.

He pushed the second plate toward her. "This one, I kept thinking about how you used the words 'sophisticated' and 'grown-up' to describe what you wanted for your sister—"

A look of alarm crossed Katniss's face, and she cut him off. "There's no booze in this cake, is there? I can't serve my sister and her friends boozy cake."

"Not to worry—I took it in a different direction. I know you said you wanted lemon, but I wanted to give you another option in case you hated the first cake. Sometimes—and no offense—what people think they want isn't really what they want. This is a Madagascar vanilla cake with a strawberry balsamic reduction for the filling, and the frosting is a brown-butter buttercream." Peeta folded his hands on the table and leaned toward her a little. "I'm glad you like the lemon, and you are in no way obligated to like this cake. But this is a new combo I haven't tried before, so I'd love for you to tell me what you think of it anyway."

She pulled a piece onto her fork and inspected it before taking a bite. The frown returned, and she closed her eyes. He found himself hyper-focusing on her jaw. He picked up his own fork to give himself something to do.

"Oh my god," she said.

He felt the color flood into his cheeks and hesitated to lift his eyes.

"This is magic," she said. "You haven't, like, slipped illicit drugs into the frosting to make me like this, right? I don't even _like_ cake—that's always been Prim's thing."

He wondered what she _did_ like. Instead, he just shrugged a little. "Maybe you've just been eating the wrong cake."

Her eyes went a little sharper as she looked at him. "I'm beginning to think so."

Peeta cleared his throat. "I went with strawberry because I thought it would be summery and playful, like the lemon, and I brought in the balsamic to bring it to a similar brightness in the mouth. What do you think?"

"It's incredible," she said, spearing another forkful. "The filling is my favorite part."

He smiled.

"And the little brown flecks in the cake are from the vanilla?" she asked. "I thought vanilla was an extract."

"It is, but if you want _fancy_ , you take whole vanilla beans and scrape them into the batter."

"Bakers' secrets," she said, with a conspiratorial smile, and his heart almost stopped.

"Bakers' secrets," he confirmed with a nod. "What do you think of the frosting?"

"I've never had anything like it before. It's nutty, almost, but really yummy. I love it with the vanilla and the strawberry."

"Not too sweet? I was worried it might not be to your taste, but I thought Prim—"

"Oh yeah," Katniss said, cutting him off. "She'll go bonkers. This is one hundred percent up her alley. I don't know how you knew, but it's perfect."

 _Two out of three_ , he thought a little nervously. He liked when she used the word _perfect_. He was no longer as sure about the third one, but if he was being honest with himself, the third one hadn't really been for Prim. It was risky plating it with the other two.

He pushed plate number three toward her. "This one might not be quite right. It's really different from the other two, but it's _interesting_. It's the kind of cake you won't find anywhere else, you know? I thought you might like something like that."

"This one's too pretty to eat," she said, wondering over the delicate sprays of lavender and dandelions he'd painted onto the ganache.

"Oh, that's just a little thing," he deflected. "I can do all kinds of things for decoration. You envision it, I create it. That's the other thing I wanted to talk about today, but not till after you've tried all three and we nail down flavors."

She picked up her fork and glanced at him for assurance before carefully picking up a bite—digging gently around the flowers—and looking at it more closely. "More lemon?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said. "But this one's a little different."

She gingerly closed her mouth around it, and her eyes immediately shut tight, creasing at the corners like she was in pain.

He'd made a mistake. He started talking. He needed to explain. "I'm sorry—I know I got a little carried away with this last one. I infused the cake batter with earl grey tea and lavender, which is a little bold, perhaps _too bold_ for a delicate cake. That's why I made the filling a little sweeter—it's Meyer lemon with honey, and you might be getting little flecks of crystallized lemon rind in there. I wanted them to be noticeable, like little sparks, but not too big or distracting or chewy. I think I was just overthinking it all. You know when you make something, and you try it, and you can't tell anymore if it's good or just _complicated_?"

"Peeta," Katniss said. "Shut up."

He took a gulp of water, and it made a loud noise as he swallowed it.

She set her fork down and took a sip of water herself, and then worried at her lower lip with her teeth. "I don't get it."

He broke out in a sweat and casually tried to wipe his face with a paper napkin. "I'm sorry about this last one. I really am."

"No, not that again." She was scowling again. She ran her finger through the condensation on her glass. "I don't get why you're still here."

It was like she'd punched him in the chest. His face fell, and he wadded the napkin in his hand.

" _No_ ," she said, waving an arm in front of her as if she could clear away her words. " _Here_. At this tiny little bakery. Here in America's armpit—in Panem." She speared another piece of cake on her fork, not minding the flowers anymore, and she shoved it toward his mouth.

He froze, staring at it.

She rolled her eyes and shoved it closer, threatening to stab his chin with the tines. He opened his mouth.

The cake _wasn't_ overpowering. It had mellowed perfectly since the night before when he'd tasted it, the oils blending and softening and doing everything to play nice with each other, and hovering just on the border of sweet. The honey-lemon filling was bright, but tempered, and the tiny crystallized pieces melted against his tongue like little stars. Even the white chocolate ganache, which he'd flavored with just the sparest hint of elderflower, was singing in harmony. He could see the whole picture now. He hadn't just composed a few complimentary notes—he'd made a _symphony_.

"You're like some kind of cake wunderkind," she was saying as she speared another piece for herself. "You could probably go anywhere, become a world-famous pastry chef. _What the hell are you still doing here_?" She looked like she wanted to reach across the table and shake him by the shoulders.

Seeing her react like this was like discovering a lost page from the Katniss Everdeen manuscript he'd been piecing together all these years. She was mad, but mad in a good way. Mad in a way that meant—

"So, you like this one, then?" he asked, scrubbing at the stubble on his cheek (a habit he and his brothers had all picked up from their father).

She shook her head. "Goddammit, Peeta. You spin straw into gold and turn cake into—into magic. You're killing me. You're turning me into a cake girl. I never wanted to _be_ a cake girl. And now here I am, forever changed by these goddammed, sugar-coated wonders. Jeezus." She fought a smile and shook her head again.

Peeta laughed, relieved and more pleased than he'd ever been by any other customer's praise. But then she wasn't any other customer. "I feel I ought to mention that I'm notoriously excellent at savory goods, too. You know, in case you're more into that kind of thing."

"Coming here was a mistake," she said around another bite of the lavender cake. She pointed her empty fork at him. "You're going to ruin me."

He sincerely hoped so. He scooped up a piece of the strawberry cake and savored it with a smile. "So at the risk of sounding cocky, you seem to have a bit of a dilemma before you."

"Oh?" she asked, now halfway through the lavender.

"Seems to me we have three winners here. I seem to recall the word 'perfect' being thrown around at least twice. You're in a bind. What would you like to do?"

Katniss frowned and pulled her lips in between her teeth in thought. Decisively, she took a big sip of her water and went back for more of the lemon cake. Then another small bite of lavender. Then the strawberry. Then the lemon, then the lavender again. She set her fork down, gently dabbed at her mouth with a napkin, and then folded her hands on the table. "I refuse."

There was a hint of a smile in the corners of her eyes, like sunlight dancing behind clouds, so Peeta knew there had to be more to it. He shrugged. "I can make more cakes."

"Not necessary," she said. "I refuse to choose _between them_. I want them all."

He considered this. "It is a three-tiered cake. Easy-peasy." _Easy-peasy? Really, Mellark?_ He coughed and took a sip of water. "The only question is which kind you want for each tier." He grabbed his orange moleskin notebook out of his apron pocket and started jotting down notes.

She frowned over at him. "Journal?" she asked.

"Pft. _Diary_ , of course. Of all my cakey hopes and dreams," he said, waggling his eyebrows at her. He moved to block her view of the page with his other arm. "No peeking."

She settled back.

"By the rate at which you're devouring the lavender," he said at last, "I'd say you have a favorite even if mother is supposed to love all the children the same."

She smirked. "That's the problem," she said. " _I_ love it, but I think Prim would especially love the lemon and the strawberry."

Peeta puzzled over this. It was the same problem he'd considered when he'd come up with the lavender. It wasn't really a cake for Prim. "Do you think she might like something else instead? Blueberry, blackberry, raspberry—olallieberry, maybe? I could make something with chocolate, using the strawberry-balsamic as a transitional palate from the lemon to something a little richer. Still sophisticated, of course—"

"I _really_ want the lavender," she interrupted, and then hedged. "But maybe that's selfish."

He really wanted her to _have_ the lavender. "It's your first real cake, too, right? You're celebrating together. You don't think she'd particularly _dislike_ it, do you?"

"No. It's like the haute couture of cake. She'd be all over it. It's just that the flavors are so particularly _me_. And I'm doing this for her, not me."

"Okay, then trust an expert," he said, with a bashful smile. "I kind of made these three to complement each other. Each one enhances the others."

"I noticed," she said, finishing her water.

Rye came by with a water pitcher and topped them both off, which was unusually attentive of him.

"Thanks, man," Peeta said.

"Sure thing," Rye replied with a smile. "It's hot out." He went back to the counter.

Peeta turned his attention back to the issue at hand. "So they go great together, we're making three cakes anyway for the tiers—there's nothing to protest over as far as I can tell. We'll put the lavender at the top so that Prim gets all the lemon and strawberry she wants. Which do you think for the base?"

She crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. "I'll trust the expert and go with the order in which they were presented: lemon, then strawberry. And yeah, throw the lavender on top."

He grinned as he added to his notes. "I shall do no such thing. I intend to place it gently and carefully on top, with the utmost care and attention. As, of course, I do with all my cakes."

"Of course," she said, with a nod. "So spill: how much is this going to set me back?"

"Shh. No money-talk yet. I'm still planning. We haven't even touched on decoration. I'm guessing bouquets of primroses might be a little too on-the-nose."

She gave him an amused smile, and it made him wonder how long he could keep her there. (It made him wonder how he could keep her there forever.)

"I _am_ thinking flowers of some kind, though," he said. "It seems right, and I'm great at them. I swear I'm not bragging—it's just true."

"Yeah, that sounds good," she said.

"Any thoughts as to variety? Scope? Size? Arrangement?"

She pondered this for a moment, looking again at the lavender sprays he'd painted on the top. " _I_ love _this_ , but I think Prim would adore something a little more showy."

"I could do sugar flowers—gum paste—but they're hard as rocks and don't taste great. I've tried flavoring them before, but it's not really worth it."

"Wow, you're really selling it, Mellark."

He choked out a laugh. "They're really pretty—that's why I mentioned it. But for you—for Prim—I'm thinking modeling chocolate. And I can tint it any color or paint it to make it look exactly how we want. It'll taste good and look good, and it shouldn't overpower or detract from the cakes themselves." He looked up at her from his notes. "You're not planning on letting my masterpiece sit in the sun all afternoon or anything, right?"

"The party's in the evening," she said.

"No risk of melting, then," he said. "Sound okay to you?"

She shrugged. "You're the cake expert."

He smiled. "And you're the Prim expert."

She half-smiled at him again. "You're a lot different than I remember you being in school," she said.

He swallowed. "We never really interacted much at school."

"You're funnier now."

"Nah, I've just developed better defense mechanisms. Being the youngest of three brothers will do that to you."

"So," she said, sliding her fork through a smear of ganache on her plate. "If I make a joke, will it make the exorbitant cost of this cake not seem so bad? That's how defense mechanisms work, right?"

Peeta bit his lip and considered her. "I won't have a final estimate for you until next week."

She set her fork down and scratched at her neck. "I thought that was what today was about."

"Today was part one," he said. "Next week is part two, where I show you some sketches for the flowers, maybe make a few sample blooms. Remember how we agreed this cake needed to be perfect?"

"This is either way too much trouble or it's going to cost way too much money," she said, checking the time on her phone.

He was losing her. "Neither. I'd do the same for anyone." That was maybe the wrong thing to say, but she put her phone down and shifted into silent incredulity, which somehow seemed like an improvement.

"I know you know plants and flowers," he said. "Real ones. I'd hate to make a stupid mistake when it matters, like grouping flowers together that bloom in opposite seasons or something. I'll need you to check my work. It shouldn't take too much of your time, I don't think. Would the same time next Monday work for you?"

She chewed on his explanation a little before answering. "I'll have to check my schedule. I was late today because work ran late. I tried to call the bakery number, but I was out of cell phone range, and then I was rushing over here trying to just get here as fast as I could."

He shook his head. "It's fine. Do you think you can call and let me know when you're able to check?"

"Yeah," she said. "Can I get your cell?"

He blinked. "Yeah, okay." He dictated the number to her.

She glanced over to the bakery counter. "I don't mean to be weird. When I call, I'd just really prefer if I could talk to you on the phone, not—anyone else." Her eyes shifted briefly to the door to the kitchen.

He frowned, but nodded. "Yeah. Definitely. That's fine." It was more than fine. Katniss Everdeen now had his phone number. "Can I get yours? In case I have botanical inquiries that Professor Google can't answer?"

She smirked. "Sure." She snatched his moleskin from him and jotted her number across the top of the page he'd been working on. He was suddenly grateful he hadn't lapsed into doodling while they'd talked—his messy handwriting was embarrassing enough. She handed it back to him.

"Hey, what's the protocol for the leftovers from tastings like these?" she asked.

"I can package them up for you if you'd like," he said, standing up and tucking his notebook into his pocket again. "Most people take the leftovers home."

She shook her head. "That whole surprise thing? Might be a little less surprising if Prim finds these in the fridge."

"Good point. Eat as much as you like and I can throw out the rest. I won't be offended. Three cakes, even mini ones—it's kind of an ungodly amount of cake, especially when you don't even like cake."

"Nuh-uh. Too good to throw out," she said. "Besides, I'm a cake-convert now, remember?"

He shrugged. "Phone a friend?"

"Yeah, maybe I will," she said. She picked up her phone and started texting.

"Can I get you anything else?" he asked. "Iced tea, maybe? Perhaps the number of a competing bakery so you can be sure you're making the best choice?"

She finished texting and set her phone down. "I'm pretty happy with the baker I have, thank you."

"So just the iced tea, then? On the house."

"Do you do that for all your clients?"

"Nope," he said, and waited for her to accept or reject this thing, whatever it was, that he found himself offering her.

"Iced tea would be perfect," she said.

That word again. He smiled, relieved, and went back to the kitchen to chop up some strawberries and mint to add to her tea. He was interrupted by the phone and had to stop and take an order for pickup. When he came back out, Katniss wasn't alone.

Dark hair, tawny skin, eyes like cigarette smoke, and he was eating the last bite of her lavender cake. Gale Hawthorne, leaning his long limbs in the chair Peeta had vacated, oiling his way into her conversation. They were taking bites of cake in turns with her fork and joking and laughing. That hint of derision he'd noticed in high school had returned to Katniss's eyes, but he noticed now it wasn't derision _at_ or _toward_ anyone or anything. It was like she was suddenly wearing armor. He wondered what she felt she needed to protect herself from.

Peeta bolstered his resolve and made his way to the table with her drink. "Here you go," he said, carefully placing the glass in front of her. "Let me know if you need anything else."

"Thanks, Peeta. You remember Gale, from school?"

"Hey," Peeta said, giving him a terse version of the guy nod.

"Mellark," Gale said in return.

"Anything I can get you?" Peeta asked politely.

"Nope," Gale said, looking across at Katniss. "I think we've got everything we need."

Peeta nodded, and finding he had no more to say, he went back behind the counter to relieve Rye. He helped a few customers and wiped down the counters—flour, _everywhere_!—while trying not to pay attention to whatever was happening at Katniss's table. He saw Gale reach over and take a long sip of her tea, and Peeta had to tell himself to stop grinding his teeth.

He was putting together a box of pastries for the phone order when Gale and Katniss finally got up to leave.

"Thanks again," Katniss called to him with a wave.

"My pleasure," he answered. "See you next week?"

"Yeah, I'll call you," she said before she pushed through the door.

He wasn't looking, but he could have sworn that Gale hesitated a moment before following her out.

Peeta heaved a sigh of relief and retreated to the kitchen.

"I'm going on break," he told his brother.

His dad pushed in through the back door just as he was about to open it.

"Woah, sorry Peet," he said, trying to regain his grip on the box he'd almost dropped.

Peeta took it from him and set it on the counter.

"Thanks. Heading on break?"

"Yeah, I just finished a cake consult."

"Good," his dad said, taking off his hat and tossing it on the counter. "You know you've got something on your cheek there? Looks like frosting."

Peeta's stomach dropped to his feet. He reached up and wiped at his face, staring at the offending glob in horror. He licked the frosting from his finger. _Cream cheese_ , which meant it had to have been there _practically the whole time_.

He turned on his brother. "Why the hell didn't you tell me?"

Rye shrugged guiltily. "I thought she might find it endearing."

"Unbelievable." He pushed past his laughing father and out into the August heat.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hey! Thanks for reading, and thanks for your favorites, follows, and kind words! Enjoy chapter 3!**

"These are incredible," she was saying, carefully inspecting the white chocolate lemon blossoms and strawberry blossoms he'd made. "I had no idea you were this good."

Peeta rarely found himself at a loss for words, so it was lucky that she didn't seem to really expect a response. He shrugged.

"The only thing," she said, and hesitated.

"Color?" he supplied, sensing what he'd already considered to be the main drawback to his design.

She nodded her head side to side. "Maybe? Don't get me wrong—I love the idea of it, but it's almost like it's—"

"Perfect for the cake, not perfect for Prim," he said, nodding. "That's why I wanted to check with you."

She picked up a lemon blossom again and spun it thoughtfully between her fingers. "It's ridiculous. This ought to be perfect. Like, if you were to make this cake for a magazine or something, that's exactly what you _ought_ to put on it. I don't get _why_ it doesn't seem right for Prim—I just know that it doesn't." She raised her eyes to his. "Sorry," she said, lifting a shoulder into a rueful shrug.

He offered her a smile. "It's not a problem. That's why we do this. What's right for one person or setting or occasion isn't always right for another. So let's work on figuring out what _Prim's_ cake ought to look like. Let's ignore 'the ideal cake' and focus on _your_ 'ideal cake.' Any intuitions?"

"I don't think it should be crazy bright or anything. And again, I don't know if color really is the problem. I still want sophisticated, but I think it should be _lively_." She pressed her forehead into her palms. "I'm not making any sense."

"No, no," he said, folding his arms on the table. "The idea of what you're saying makes perfect sense. We just don't know how that translates into flowers yet. You know?"

She nodded and rubbed her forehead.

He considered her for a moment. "Do you want some cheese buns?"

She lifted her head and frowned at him in confusion.

"I know I think better when I'm not hungry, and I haven't eaten lunch yet. Have you?"

"I haven't," she said.

"Cheese buns to the rescue, then," he said, scooting his chair back.

"Okay, but I'm paying this time," she insisted.

He waved her off. "What's a few cheese buns between friends?"

"I _want_ to," she said, standing and following him to the counter. "You're already going to way too much trouble for this cake. My internal debt tab can't take more handouts."

He reached into the pastry cases and plated four cheese buns. "They're not handouts. We're having lunch together—it's different."

"Exactly. So I'd like to pay for our lunch." She looked like she was steeling herself for further argument.

Peeta shrugged. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah," he said. "But drinks are on me. What would you like? Iced tea again? Something else?"

"Tea would be great," she said, apparently a little baffled by his surrender. She traded him a few dollar bills for the plate of cheese buns.

"Tea's in the fridge in the kitchen," he told her. "I'll be right back."

When he pulled the pitcher out of the fridge, Rye was just hanging up the phone.

"Emergency order," Rye said, finishing his notes. "Chocolate sheet cake. Volcanos and sharks. 'Happy B-Day Payton.' They need it by 5:30. Are you going to be able to handle that, or do you think you'll still be on your little date out there?"

Peeta poured the tea—green this time—and added a little bit of honey and some mint leaves to each glass. "It should be fine if you can get the batter prepped while I finish meeting with _our client_."

"She's not our client yet," Rye insisted moodily. "She hasn't paid a deposit or anything."

This had been a sore point for the last week. "I haven't asked her to yet because I still don't know entirely what we're going to be doing. I should know more after this meeting today."

"Great, so you'll get the deposit today?"

He picked up the glasses. "I'll get the deposit when I know she's satisfied with what we can do."

Rye grunted. "I can't prep batter _and_ man the counter, you know."

Peeta shrugged. "I'll run pastry interference and call back sandwich orders as they come. It shouldn't really take you more than a few minutes. Just pop it in the oven and then give me the timer and I'll take over for it then." He didn't wait for an answer before heading back out to join Katniss.

He handed her one of the glasses and took a sip of his own. "I should warn you that I may need to man the counter periodically today. We just got an emergency cake order, and Rye's helping me out by getting it started."

"Emergency cake order, huh?" she mused. "How often does that happen?"

"Pretty often," he said. "Usually it's harried parents forgetting to order class cupcakes for a kid's birthday, or someone wanting a congratulations cake to celebrate some impromptu good news. That kind of thing. If it's anything too complicated, we won't take them on short notice, but this kind of thing's—well, _a piece of cake_."

"What kind of cake is this emergency cake?" Katniss asked, taking a sip of her tea. He watched her eyebrows quirk up in satisfaction at the taste. _Noted_.

"Birthday," he said, grabbing a cheese bun and tearing off a piece. "Volcanos and sharks."

She choked a little as she swallowed, and it turned into a laugh. "Damn, I was hoping to steal some inspiration."

"Sharks can be very sophisticated," he teased, and it earned him another laugh. "Are you going to make me eat these cheese buns by myself?"

She swiped one from the plate and took a bite. "Holy shit." She covered her mouth and stared at the bun in her hand in wonder.

He raised his eyebrows in question.

"Sorry," she said. "Not shit. Definitely not shit. More like holy cheesy miracles of splendor." She took another bite. " _Damn_ , these are good."

He gave a little flourish and a seated bow. "My own recipe."

"Marry me."

He laughed. "We haven't even been on a date yet, but okay."

"Not you. The cheese bun. I want to take it someplace romantic and swear my undying fidelity to its cheesy, glutinous perfection."

Peeta found himself grinning like an idiot, his leg now bouncing nervously under the table. He tried to distract himself by taking another bite, but his smile kept spreading across his face as he chewed. It didn't help that Katniss was eagerly polishing off her first bun and grinning like a cat over a canary whenever she met his eyes. It was too damn hot in there.

Relief came in the form of the bell tinkling from the door. He got up to help the customer at the counter, taking his sandwich order, calling it back to Rye, and taking payment.

When he got back to Katniss's table, he took a long, cool swallow of his tea and started on his second bun. She'd already finished hers and was now making designs in the condensation on the outside of her glass. He tore his bun in half and passed half of it to her.

"Are you sure?" she asked, already taking it from him.

Peeta patted his stomach. "Baker, remember? I eat way too many pastries as it is."

"Hardly," she said. Her cheeks flushed then, and she avoided his eyes as she took a drink.

This was an intriguing new reaction, but Peeta wouldn't let himself dwell on it. "So," he said, hoping to dispel the awkwardness. "Did any inspiration strike? Talk to me some more about what 'sophisticated but lively' might mean."

Katniss held her glass between both her hands, cooling her palms. It took her a moment to begin to speak. "You know how some flowers are simple? Common might be a better word. Like daisies or dandelions, or like _useful_ flowers—blossoms and herbs and that kind of thing?"

Peeta nodded.

"Prim's more like a flower you love for its own sake, not for its uses or for how easy it is to find. She's different, unique. She makes the world more beautiful—more alive." Her voice had gone quiet with a kind of reverence.

Peeta felt himself falling under the spell of her words and waited, rapt, for her to continue.

"Have you ever known anyone like that?"

Peeta nodded.

"I'd do anything for her. _Have_ done everything in my power to keep her safe and well and whole. I'd give my life for hers in a heartbeat without ever questioning if I was making the right decision. She's _precious_. Irreplaceable. You know?"

He nodded again.

"She's like sunlight. If sunlight were in danger, you'd do everything in your power to protect it. She's like laughing, beautiful, warm, dancing sunlight." She slid her hands over her face and gave a weak laugh. "How do you make a cake that gets at any of that? You'd have to be a magician. This is hopeless."

"Not hopeless," he said earnestly. He kept the desire to reach out and pull her hands away in check, but it took conscious effort. "We just need to find the right keys."

"Keys?" she asked, looking up at him again.

"The right images presented in the right ways can communicate even the most complicated truths. That's the essence of art, isn't it?"

"I don't know very much about art."

"Sure you do. You know about music, don't you?"

She traced a ring of condensation on the table. "That's different."

"I don't think it is," Peeta said. "Songs use keys, too. They pick an image—one that may be a little surprising, sometimes—and relate it to the thing they're talking about. Falling in love is like being consumed by fire. Losing the person you love is like trying to survive the coldest winter. That kind of thing, you know?"

"So?" she asked, leaning in.

"So, you said Prim is like the sun: that's part one of our key. What kind of flower reminds you of those same qualities? A flower that makes you laugh or makes you want to dance."

She deliberated for a moment, her brows drawn down. "Well, there's the obvious connection between the sun and sunflowers—"

"Do sunflowers make you think of Prim?"

She sat back in her chair. "No, not really."

"Don't think about what other people would say or think. What does Katniss think? What do you feel?"

As he watched her, he saw something click. Her breathing hitched, and her eyes grew large and bright, bright like mercury, like she was seeing something that wasn't there.

He leaned in.

" _Romneya_ ," she said quietly.

"Romneya?" he asked.

Her bright eyes turned to him. She beat her palm lightly against the tabletop in her excitement. "Romneya! The Matilija poppy?" When he still returned a blank look, she continued. " _Fire followers_! They grow wild around here, up in the hills. They get these huge, white, overblown petals, and they have these incredible yellow centers. When brushfires hit, you find them growing all over the burned areas the next summer. They grow in bushes, and they have these long stems, so they sort of bob and wave and _dance_ in the wind. They're beautiful, but _happy_." She shook her head and smiled widely. "It's perfect. I don't know why I didn't think of it. You really haven't seen them before?"

Peeta was smiling and enjoying her excitement. "No, but they sound beautiful."

Katniss pulled out her phone and began browsing. Then she reached across the table and pushed the phone toward him. "There."

"Oh, wow," Peeta said.

"There's more if you scroll to the right," she said.

"Wait, you took these?" Peeta asked. "I assumed these were Google images."

"They're mine, but that was a few summers ago, before I got my Canon and started freelancing."

"Wait," he said, his attention snapping back up to her face. "You're a professional photographer?"

"I'm a freelancer, but yeah." She coughed. "I actually had a photoset picked up by National Geographic a few months back, and they've asked me for more. That's, uh, how I'm able to do all this." Her hand waved to encompass Peeta, the table, and the bakery.

"Katniss, that's amazing! I had no idea. So when work ran late last week you were…"

"Up the mountain, waiting to shoot a peregrine falcon catching a western bluebird or a mockingbird midflight."

"And did you get it?"

She gave a Cheshire cat-like grin. "When I have what I want in my sight, I never miss a shot."

Peeta gulped his tea. It was _too damn hot_ in there.

"It took four hours to get good light, a clear background, and the right angle," she said casually, "but yeah, I got it. Nat Geo sent me a request for the publishing rights five minutes after I'd sent it to them."

"That's really amazing," Peeta said. "I had no idea you were a photographer." His mind began working on an idea. He returned to browsing the album on the phone and cleared his throat. "This one's especially lovely, but it doesn't look like you're the one who took it." Peeta turned the phone around to show her the selfie he'd landed on. Prim had clearly taken it, her arm reaching toward the camera, but Katniss was in it too, the two of them posing in front of a large cluster of Romneya, overblown flowers tucked behind their ears.

She took the phone back, blushing a little. "Oh, yeah," she said. "That was Prim's idea."

"Would you mind sending me that one?"

Katniss's lips pressed together, and her eyes narrowed appraisingly.

"For size reference, I mean," he clarified. At least that was the reason he told himself he wanted a copy of the photo. "The other shots are great, too, and I'd love to have a few of them as well. But that selfie is the only one that gives a sense of scale for the flowers. They must be, what, four or five inches in diameter? You said the petals were big, but I wasn't expecting how big."

"I'll send you the whole set," she said. "I could also bring you some actual flowers so you can get a sense of texture and weight and all that. I'll be back up in the hills on Wednesday."

"On another assignment?" he asked.

"Not this time. It's for my day job with the Forestry department. I'm a botanical survey technician."

"That makes sense." When they were in elementary school together, Katniss had known the common and scientific names of all the trees and flowers on the school grounds, and then when high school came along, she'd completely aced AP Biology.

"We both work for the Forestry department," she said.

"You both?" Peeta asked, confused. "You and Prim?"

"No," she scoffed. "Me and Gale. He helped me get the job last year."

"Ah," Peeta said. _We both. Me and Gale._ He turned the words over in his head. They were together, then. He'd suspected it in high school, but it hadn't seemed like anything had come of it at the time. They hadn't gone to dances together or anything, and they'd seemed more inclined to tease each other than kiss each other. But maybe things were different now. Peeta hadn't realized how much he'd allowed himself to hope until that very minute.

"So would that help?" she asked.

"Would what help?"

"Would it help if I brought in some samples on Wednesday?"

It didn't change anything, Peeta decided. He wouldn't let it. He could still be her baker and her friend, and that would be more than he'd ever been to her before. It would be plenty. He smiled and folded his hands on the table. "Absolutely. Definitely. Yes. There may even be a free cheese bun in it for you as a token of thanks."

"Don't tempt me," she said, finishing her tea. "I was better off before I knew they existed. They'll be prominently featured in all my dreams for the rest of the week."

Peeta sincerely hoped she was right.

* * *

Peeta was a wreck of anticipation all day on Wednesday. She hadn't said what time she'd be stopping by, and so he found himself startling at the bell every time someone entered, ducking out from the kitchen countless times each hour.

She finally showed around sunset, bursting through the door in a flare of sunlight, her soft orange tank top smudged with dirt, and her arms full of flowers. Peeta was wiping down the counters—again. He thought she'd never looked more beautiful.

"Hi," she said, her eyes alight.

"Hi," he beamed at her. "Incredible."

"They are, aren't they? Do you have something to put them in? We came straight here."

 _We_. "Come on back to the kitchen, and we can put them in water."

She hesitated. "Is anyone else…"

"Rye's here."

"Okay," she said, and followed him into the back.

Rye was busy prepping puff pastry for the next day, but he looked up and nodded a surprised hello.

"Rye, you remember Katniss? Katniss, my brother Rye."

"Hey," she said.

Rye gave a tight smile and turned his attention back to rolling out the pastry dough.

"Rye's the friendliest and most talkative of the Mellark brothers, as you can see," Peeta murmured to her, which earned him a smirk.

He grabbed a pitcher from a shelf and filled it with water, then grabbed two pairs of kitchen shears. They went to work cutting the stems.

"These really are incredible," Peeta said, gently touching the wrinkled petals and fluffy, sunny center. He watched them bob gently as if moved by an invisible wind.

She smiled, and continued cutting stems. "I made sure to get a few buds and plenty of leaves in the mix, too."

"Good thinking," he said. "I should be able to come up with a sample by Monday, if you want to stop by."

"That'd be great. And it'd give me an opportunity to try something new from the pastry cases. I plan on working my way through everything eventually, just to see what else I've been missing out on."

Peeta grinned. "I'd be happy to offer suggestions."

She returned his smile. "And I'd be happy to take them."

"Same time?" he asked.

"Yeah, sounds good." She finished cutting the last bloom and placed it in the vase, and then she led the way back out to the storefront, her hands buried in the pockets of her shorts.

"Would you like anything right now?" Peeta asked, leaning on the counter. "I'm due for a fifteen-minute break."

"Gale's waiting in the car," she said, scuffing her foot against the linoleum. "And it's really hot out there."

Peeta glanced out the window and saw an old Ford pickup parked by the curb. "Oh yeah," he said. "Definitely. But here, at least let me grab a couple of cheese buns for you. As thanks for your trouble."

"Yeah, okay," she said, and waited as he bagged them for her.

She had the bag in her arms, but she still wasn't moving toward the door. "So how did that emergency cake turn out?"

"Sharks and volcanos? Like a dream."

"Oh yeah? Do you have pictures?"

Katniss Everdeen was stalling. He glanced at the pickup out the window again, but he reached under the counter for his phone and pulled up the pics he'd grabbed in a rush before the customer had come to pick up the emergency cake. "Pretty great, right?"

Katniss laughed. "Neon sharks? I didn't even know frosting could come in that color."

"Thinking of changing your design? I told you, sharks can be very sophisticated."

She flipped past the shark cake to a wedding cake he'd done recently. It was delicate, with clean white frosting and an intricate Celtic knot design. "Peeta Mellark, you are a man of many talents."

He felt his cheeks heat as he took the phone back from her. "That one was pretty difficult, actually," he admitted. "Almost didn't pull it off."

"But you did," she said.

He rubbed at his forehead. "Yeah. Just had to stay up nearly all night finishing it."

"Dedication," she said with a smile.

He shrugged. "Or unhealthy perfectionism. We report, you decide."

"People want perfect, though. It's incredible that you're able to give that to them."

His words seemed to have fled somewhere again, and they refused to come when he called. All he could do was shrug again.

She was studying him. "How come pictures of your cakes aren't up on the walls?" She nodded to the ancient posters. "Do you guys have a website where you post your pics at least?"

"My crappy phone pics?" he said. "No way."

"Not even an Instagram?"

Peeta grimaced. "I'm pretty sure if I posted those, I'd scare people away instead of drawing more customers in."

She nodded sagely. "I see your point about unhealthy perfectionism, now."

He smirked.

"If it bothers you that much, you should get someone to take some professional pics for you. Update those awful things." She motioned to the posters again.

He narrowed his eyes at her, wondering if she was offering or not. He'd hoped to ask her eventually, but it felt too soon to broach the topic.

The bell at the door chimed.

"Catnip, come on—it's hot as _balls_ out there." Gale's face was dripping with sweat. He glared at Peeta, apparently blaming him for the delay.

Katniss smiled at Peeta and walked toward the door. "Too bad you don't know any professional photographers," she called over her shoulder.

Peeta laughed. "Monday?" he called as she reached the door.

"Monday," she said with a smile.

Through the window, he watched her climb into the passenger's seat of the pickup and drive away.

 _Monday_.


	4. Chapter 4

Peeta toiled over the sample flowers the rest of that week and into the weekend. It took him countless tries to get the texture of the petals right—soft and wrinkled, like crepe paper. Then, after that, it was a matter of getting the colors right. Peeta knew from experience that you couldn't just paint them white and yellow and be done. There were subtle variations of color he needed to explore—a hint of green closer to the stems, some subtle blues and peaches and yellows on the petals, then seven shades of yellow from buttercream and daffodil to goldenrod and ochre for the finely textured centers, not to mention the work that went into the buds and leaves.

Come Monday, Peeta was anxious to see Katniss again, anxious for her approval of what he knew was as close to perfection as he could offer her.

She burst through the door that afternoon holding it open with her foot, her hands full this time with two large sodas from Ripper's, the liquor store down the street. She pushed one across the counter to him and took a sip out of the other.

"What's this?" Peeta asked.

"Orange soda." She set her cup down on the counter as well and fished her wallet out of her pocket.

"I love orange soda," he said. He grinned and took a sip. "How'd you know?"

"You spilled it on your pants the first time I came in, remember?"

Peeta scratched at the stubble along his jaw. "I'd really hoped you'd forgotten about that."

She smiled. "I finished shooting early today, and I was thinking about how it's always so hot in here, and, well, I kinda still feel bad about making you spill your drink that day. I really hadn't meant to scare you."

"It wasn't a problem, except for the whole orange crotch issue that resulted. Seeped right through my pants and underwear, and now my skin's dyed that color permanently." _Really? A crotch joke?_ he scolded himself.

"God, that's really awful. That must be terrible for you." She shook her head, but she was full-on grinning now, and he was deeply grateful for her willingness to play along.

He leaned on the counter. "It is. And that's why you should stop being so darn graceful and instead resolve to blunder about loudly like me. Many fewer orange crotch-related incidents. It's scientifically proven."

She leaned against the counter, too. "Well I _have_ been aspiring to something more like your noisy blundering—kicking the door open today, for instance. Making sure I rustle the bells sufficiently each time I come in."

Peeta pressed both his palms flat on the counter. "Wait, really?"

She smiled again and shifted her weight. "It's worked, hasn't it?"

"Maybe that's just because I've been on the lookout for you since that first time." _Careful_ , he cautioned himself. His words were beginning to strain at their leash.

She drummed her fingers once on the countertop. "I don't intend to sneak up on you, Peeta."

He watched her closely as she took a sip of her drink. "So what's Katniss Everdeen's carbonated poison of choice these days?"

She gave him a half smile. "Root beer. My dad used to take us out for root beer floats on really hot days. I guess I was feeling nostalgic today."

"Hm," Peeta said. "You know what goes well with root beer and nostalgia?"

"Tell me," she said, taking another sip.

"Walnut Danish."

She lifted an eyebrow.

"She doubts!" He went ahead and plated two anyway.

"Oh no, I know better by now than to doubt you." She pulled a five-dollar bill from her wallet and slid it across to him.

He slid it back to her. "On me. You bought drinks today."

She followed him over to what had become "their table" and sat down. "You're going to have to stop giving me free food," she said.

"Am I?"

"That's not how businesses work."

He laughed. "Oh god, really? I'm glad someone finally told me."

She rolled her eyes.

"How about this," he tried. "It might not be how businesses work, but it might be how friendships work. What if I want to be your friend and not just your baker?"

She crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. "I'm not a very good friend."

"That's perfect," he said. "I have too many good friends as it is—Delly especially. Way too attentive. I'm in the market for a crappy friend. Preferably one who makes me spill orange soda all over myself and then likes to embarrass me by reminding me of it."

Katniss attempted to hold back a smile. She grabbed one of the Danishes and pushed the plate toward him. "Just eat your Danish."

Peeta bit into his and let the taste of it wash over him. These really were nostalgic for him. His dad would bring home leftover pastries for breakfast on holiday mornings, and Peeta and his brothers used to fight over the fruit and cheese ones. But Peeta noticed eventually that his father always picked the walnut ones. They had always seemed too grown-up and less interesting than the others, but Peeta knew his dad had good taste. So he snuck one one Easter morning when he was eight or nine, and then he'd never gone back. The walnuts were crisp and sweet, and the center was filled with a lightly spiced and sweetened cream cheese. There was something about the combination that was a little magical.

"Is that cinnamon?" Katniss asked him.

"And nutmeg, and a tiny bit of vanilla," Peeta said, licking his lips.

"It tastes like autumn," she said. "Like the very last day of autumn."

He suddenly feared he may have made a grave miscalculation. "And what's your opinion of autumn?" he asked evenly.

"It's my favorite season." She smiled gently and wiped a smudge of cream cheese from the corner of her mouth. "Except for the fires."

Peeta nodded. He knew now what he hadn't known at the time—that her father had died in the autumn in one of many wildfires that season, running a risky maneuver that saved probably half the town from the flames but ended up costing him his life. He wondered how she could still find something to love that was so closely associated with the worst season of her life.

"So how did the flowers come out?" she asked when she finished her Danish.

"I think they turned out well. I _hope_. I'll go grab them."

He popped into the kitchen to pull them from the fridge.

"On another date?" Rye asked. He was finishing the lattice on a cherry pie someone had ordered.

"Final consult," Peeta said, unwilling to let his brother ruffle his feathers. "I need you to man the counter for a bit."

Rye just waved him off. "I'll come out if the bell rings."

Peeta brought the platter out to Katniss and nervously removed the cover.

He was met with silence. He watched her, trying to gauge what she was thinking.

Gingerly, Katniss reached out and touched one delicate petal. "Wow." Her eyes snapped up to his, and he began to panic.

"Did I screw up? _How_ did I screw up?"

"No, I just thought—" She paused.

"Thought what?"

She shook her head, and she lifted the flower from the tray and held it in her palm. "I thought you were screwing with me. I thought you'd just plated an actual flower."

Relief flooded through him. "Oh thank god. I thought I'd somehow managed to disappoint you."

She raised an eyebrow at him and pointed to the flower. "This is _art_ , Peeta. This is _magic_."

He laughed in relief and triumph. "I'm so glad. I'm _so glad_." He patted his heart, coaxing it to slow down.

"Prim's going to lose her mind. I wish you could see it." A slow smile had begun to bloom, but then she frowned. "You _should_ see it—you should stop by. I'm sure she'd love to meet the magician in person."

"I don't want to crash…" he protested.

"It's not crashing," she insisted. "I'm inviting you. It's at seven on Saturday night, at the Hawthornes' house. Prim's dating Rory, Gale's younger brother, so she thinks she's meeting him there to go out for a special birthday dinner."

"Ah," Peeta said. He didn't think Gale would be particularly glad to see him there, but then Katniss was the one throwing the party, and she had invited him. "I don't get off until eight, but maybe I can swing by after Rye and I close up."

She smiled. "I'll text you the address. You can bring Delly, if you want. Or your girlfriend, or some other, uh, friend. If you want."

Was she fishing for information? "Great," he said. "I'll definitely try to make it. For now, though, we should talk final details." He pulled out his notebook and showed her three sketches of different possible arrangements for the flowers. They settled on heavier clusters at the bottom of the cake, sweeping and swirling gently up to the top.

"That's everything, right?" she asked.

Peeta checked over his notes again. "Yeah, I think that's it. Do you want me to go over anything with you again?"

"No need. But now it's time to talk about the thing you've been so urgently avoiding all this time." She folded her hands neatly on the table. "Let's talk money."

Peeta smiled mimicked her actions. "Gladly. Given the—"

She held up a hand and cut him off. "I warn you, Mellark, I've done my research. I know what a fancy wedding-style cake ought to cost, so if you lowball me, I intend to walk right out of here and head straight over to Petunia's Patisserie on Ninth, and their cakes are nowhere near as good as yours." Her eyes were steely, and he wondered at her ability to injure and soothe him in the same breath.

His smile drooped, and he leaned forward, lowering his voice. "A specialty, three-tier, three-flavor cake sets you back $450. Add the flowers, though, and that's an additional $150 since I'll be spending the greater part of the next four days working on them. Simpler decoration would have been included in the original price, but we have to charge extra for something like this." He picked up the flower and examined it again. "It's the most complex floral work I've done so far."

Katniss had gone a little pale. She took a sip of her root beer and stared resolutely at a spot on the table. "Fine. I can do that."

It was like the money had suddenly built a wall between them. Peeta couldn't stand it. He reached across the table and touched her arm.

"It's too much," he said. "And I didn't warn you about the extra cost ahead of time. But I have a solution I think you might find acceptable."

"Peeta, it's fine," she said, brushing his arm away. "I have the money. I can pay it all today, even. It's just a little hard to swallow when you're used to living paycheck to paycheck. I have to keep reminding myself that that's not how it is anymore. But that's entirely my problem, not yours." Her eyes met his again. "When can I pick it up?"

Peeta's heart stumbled in a complexity of feeling at her honesty. "Friday. Five o'clock okay?"

"Yeah, that should be fine." Her eyes darted over to the counter. She stood suddenly and pocketed her phone. "I need to get going."

He panicked. "Hang on, I'd really like to talk to you about something. I have a proposition for you."

"I can't," she said, keeping her eyes firmly on the floor tiles as she made her way over to the door in a hurry. "I just remembered I have to be somewhere."

Peeta followed her. The sun nearly blinded him as he pushed through the door. She was fast, but he caught up with her halfway down the street. "Where do you need to be?" he asked. "Can I walk you there? Or drive you there?" She kept walking, so he did his best to keep up.

"It's kind of you to offer, but I'm fine." Her shields were back up. Was it because of the money?

"I really don't mind. And you seem upset—"

She came to a sudden halt and turned to him. She gasped. "Oh god. I just realized I didn't pay you. I swear meant to do that before I left."

Peeta held up his hands. "It's fine. You can pay when you pick up."

"No," she said. "That's not how you would treat another customer. I looked it up online—I should have paid a deposit weeks ago, and it's absurd that I haven't paid anything yet. There's an ATM a couple of blocks over. We can stop there really quick, and then I'll be paid in full."

"It's really okay—"

"It isn't!" Her eyes flashed. "Stop saying that! I need this to be a professional transaction." She sighed exasperatedly. "I need to know what the rules are, but you won't even _tell_ me the rules—I had to look them up. I need you to stop bending and breaking rules for me without my knowledge and without my consent. We're going to the ATM."

She strode off down the street.

It was like he'd been slapped, but now he had no choice but to follow her. "We should go back to the bakery—it's closer, and you can pay cash, credit, or debit, whatever you want."

"No," she said. "I don't want to go back in there."

This stopped him in his tracks. "Why not?"

She turned and ran a hand over her forehead. "It's embarrassing."

"What is?"

"Everything. Me running away like that."

He put his hands in his pockets and took a step closer to her. "Who's to know besides me?"

"Your dad?" she suggested. She started walking again, and Peeta caught up to her.

"What does he have to do with anything?"

" _Nothing_ ," she insisted.

"Well, it's not like I'm going to tell him."

"He was _there_ , Peeta. He saw me leave."

"So?" he asked.

"Just forget about it. We're halfway there already anyway."

Peeta followed her silently the rest of the way to the ATM. They waited for the man in front of them to finish, and then Katniss stepped up to use the machine.

She pounded her fist on the wall. "Shit. I forgot. The limit is $500. I think I've got maybe forty on me right now."

"It's fi—"

" _Don't_ ," she insisted, so Peeta dutifully shut his mouth.

After a moment, the machine beeped and spat her card back out. "The hell?" she asked quietly.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"No," she said. "It must have read it wrong or something." She rubbed her card's chip on her shirt, pushed the card back into the slot, and went through the screens again. The machine beeped and spat out her card once more. " _Shit_. I don't know why it's rejecting it." Her hand shook as she pushed her card back into her wallet. "Maybe I can try a different ATM."

Peeta gently held her still by the arms and ducked his head to catch her eyes. "Hey. _Hey_. It's going to be okay. Whatever's wrong, we can fix it. Okay? Do you need to call your bank?"

"I don't know. Probably? This has never happened before. I swear I have the money. It's in my account."

He rubbed her arm with his thumb. "I could try my card, if you want. I could loan you the money, and then you could—"

She pushed away from him. "Just _stop_. Peeta, this isn't working. I don't know what the hell this is, but it isn't professional. You wouldn't offer to loan money to any other customer. I don't know why you can't just treat me like anyone else."

"Because you're _not_ like anyone else," he said, his heart pounding. His cheeks were flushed from the heat, from his feelings, from the words he held back. "You're my _friend_. Friends help each other, and they let their friends help them. Why won't you let me help you?"

She turned on her heel and headed down the street and into an alleyway.

Angry now, Peeta ran after her and cut her off. "No, you don't get to walk away again. Not this time."

She pushed past him. "You don't get to make my decisions for me."

"And you don't get to make mine for me." He matched her pace.

"Just _stop_ ," she said. "It's unfair."

"How is it _unfair_? All I want is to help you, to _help you do something nice for someone else_. Where do fair and unfair come into play?"

She stopped again, her anger spilling out. "God, Peeta. You've witnessed me at literally the worst moments of my life—absolute rock bottom. How are we supposed to be friends when I'm _this_ , and you're _that_?"

Now, Peeta thought, they were getting somewhere. "What do you mean? _This_ and _that_?"

Her cheeks were red, maybe from anger, maybe from embarrassment. "You're, you know—solid and steady, and you have everything you need. And _I'm_ —I'm an object of _pity_ to you. I thought that for once I was doing alright, and, I don't know, I thought maybe—" She shook her head. "But now this happens, and I'm just reminded of the fact that we'll never really be equal, even if I'm finally doing well. You can't change the past." She took off again down the alleyway.

His mind reeled from her words. "Wait," he said, following her. "Please wait."

Miraculously, she did, but she looked so defeated it nearly broke his heart. All her anger seemed to have dissipated, evaporated, maybe, along with all the moisture in this damned, dry heat.

"I don't care about any of that," Peeta said. "I've never for a moment thought less of you because of your circumstances. Heck, I've _admired_ you for doing everything you can for Prim and for your mom. You're strong, and independent, and you've carved your own indelible path in the world already, and you're just barely getting started. But you spend so much of yourself caring for other people," he said, stepping carefully closer to her. "Did you think no one should ever spend a little of themselves in caring for you?"

Her eyes went hard again, and Peeta knew he was losing her— _again_.

She crossed her arms. "I don't need caring for," she said.

"I never said you did. I don't think anyone would ever say that about you. But _needing care_ and _being worthy of care_ are different."

Katniss turned her eyes to the ground. "I'll bring you your money on Friday."

"Katniss—"

She glanced up at him for a split second and then glanced down again. When she spoke, her voice was tight with feeling. "You're a good person, Peeta, but I'm not looking for a friend. I think we should keep this strictly professional."

Peeta sighed, defeated. "If that's what you really want."

She looked at him, as if committing him to memory. When she spoke again, it was soft. "I'll see you Friday, Peeta."

He watched her retreating form disappear around a corner, and he wondered exactly how things had gone so wrong.

* * *

He _didn't_ see her Friday. At least, not to pick up her cake.

It was one of those strange summer days when a storm kicks up out of nowhere. It started raining late in the afternoon, just around four, but it had been sickeningly humid and threatening to rain all day. Five o'clock rolled in with the thunder, the rain continued to fall heavily, and the storm brought a rain-soaked Gale Hawthorne into the bakery at 5:09. He wiped his boots on the mat and squeaked his way up to the counter.

"Can I help you?" Peeta asked, already guessing why he was there.

"I'm here for Prim's cake," he said. "It's under Everdeen, E-V-E-R-D—"

"Got it," Peeta interrupted. "Where's Katniss?"

Peeta received a glower and no answer.

"Isn't that your truck out there?" Peeta asked, peering out the window into the rain. "Is that her in the front seat?"

"She doesn't want to speak to you," Gale said.

Peeta's eyes shifted to the window again. "Oh."

"So where's this cake?" Gale asked.

"It's in the fridge. Did you want to see it before I box it up?"

"What for?" Gale asked. "A cake's a cake."

Peeta didn't feel like arguing. And he didn't need to please Gale Hawthorne, anyway. If Katniss was happy with it, and he was fairly certain she would be, then that was all that mattered.

"Katniss said she'd be paying the full balance for it today," Peeta said.

"Yeah, she gave me the cash," Gale said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a stack of twenties.

"Okay," Peeta said. "Well, it comes out to $652.50, with tax."

"Are these cakes of yours made of gold?" Gale asked incredulously. Nevertheless, he counted out the cash.

Peeta held it together until he heard Gale mutter something about it being a "fucking rip-off" under his breath.

"For your information," Peeta said quietly while counting out his change, "I tried to knock the price down, and I wanted to see if we could work out a trade of some kind, but she insisted on paying full price. You can tell her that if she's not completely satisfied with the final product, she can contact me for a full or partial refund." Peeta handed Gale the receipt.

Gale ground his teeth but said nothing.

"I'll be right back," Peeta said.

He ducked into the kitchen and began assembling the box for the cake.

"Your girlfriend finally pay?" Rye asked. He was sitting on the counter, eating a sandwich. It was Peeta's night to stay late and prep for the morning, and Rye was just having an early dinner now that his shift had ended.

"Her boyfriend did," Peeta replied quietly.

Rye stopped chewing. "Seriously?"

"He's out there right now."

Rye hopped down of the counter and peeked out into the storefront.

Peeta checked his handiwork one last time for smudges or imperfections. He already knew there weren't any, but he'd saved several extra flowers just in case he needed to make last minute substitutions. Better safe than sorry.

Rye came and stood beside him. "This one's your best," he said. And then, "I'm really sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about," Peeta replied. "She's my friend."

Rye shook his head and retreated to the counter and his sandwich again.

Peeta finished packing up the cake, and he brought it carefully out to the front.

"Do you want me to help take it to your car?" Peeta asked.

"Don't need any help, thanks," Gale said, gently picking up the box.

Peeta had to hand it to him that at least Gale was careful with the cake even if he thought the whole thing was a ridiculous waste. He must have known how much this mattered to Katniss.

"Alright, well, have a nice day," Peeta said as Gale headed toward the door.

"And tell Katniss—" Gale let the door shut behind him before Peeta could finish. "—I hope the party goes well," he finished lamely to the empty room.

He watched the truck's passenger's side door open quickly from the inside, and he watched Gale carefully hand someone—the rain obscured who—the box before he closed the door and ran around to the other side, ducking his head in the rain. The truck pulled cautiously away from the curb, and then it was gone.

Mechanically, Peeta picked up a rag and a bottle of disinfectant and began wiping down the counters.

A few moments later, Rye emerged from the kitchen, dusting his hands on his apron. "I can stay and help you close, if you want."

"I'm okay," Peeta said.

"You're sadder than a sad puppy," his brother said, stepping from behind the counter to turn the old wooden "open" sign that hung in the window to "closed."

"Nothing like a little hard work to keep the mind occupied, right?" Peeta said, tossing his rag into the sink.

"If you say so," Rye said. "Call me if you change your mind."

Peeta nodded, and Rye slid out the door.

Forty-five minutes later, Peeta was prepping dough for Saturday morning's Danishes and portioning out muffin batter to store in the fridge until his dad arrived for the morning shift. His cell phone rang, but his hands were greasy from the pastry dough, so he let it go to voicemail. Everyone who typically called him knew that if he didn't answer, he was probably baking and would respond when he could. So when his phone rang a second time a minute later, it gave him pause. He glanced at the screen: _Katniss Everdeen_.

Shit, shit, _shit_!

Peeta rushed to the sink to wash his hands, but the ringing stopped before he could get to it. He was about to listen to her voicemail when the screen lit up with her name again. Frantically, he pushed the button to answer it.

"Hello? Katniss?"

"Peeta?" she said. Her voice sounded strange.

"Yeah, it's me," he said. "Everything okay?"

He heard a sniffle on the other side of the phone. "No."

The hair on his arms stood straight up. "What happened? Are you okay?"

He heard several more sniffling noises on the other end before she spoke. "We were driving home, and Gale was being really careful, but—the rain—and—"

"Katniss, are you hurt?"

"No, I'm—a little bruised, but Prim—"

Peeta's heart sank to the floor in dread. "Something happened to Prim?"

Katniss gave a weak laugh. "No, she's—she's fine, Peeta. She wasn't there." He heard her swallow before she spoke again, her voice wobbling in sorrow and distress. "It's Prim's _cake_."

 **A/N: This is just to say that Chapter 5 is going to be late this week. Sorry for the delay! I'm an English teacher, and I'm wading through a giant stack of term papers right now, so I won't be able to post anything until sometime later this week at the earliest, once all of my grades have been submitted. Thank you for your patience! Hopefully the wait won't be too long. Thanks for reading, and thanks for all your encouraging notes and reviews! ..:: Pearl ::..**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: This didn't quite make it up on Monday** **—my apologies for running a little late! My grandfather had a sudden downturn in his health and was admitted to the hospital this weekend, so we spent the entire weekend with him there (he's doing much better now, but it was pretty scary for a while). I didn't get to finish this chapter's draft until tonight after work. But! It's the longest chapter yet, so I hope that makes up a little for missing last week's chapter and this one being a little late. Thanks for your messages, reviews, and encouragements!**

When Peeta opened the bakery's back door, he beheld a rain-soaked Katniss Everdeen—and a surly, water-logged Gale Hawthorne, bearer of the busted cake.

Peeta held the door open for them and then fished out some clean dishtowels so they could dry themselves off a little.

"You guys okay?" he asked. "Do you need anything? Coffee, tea, hot chocolate?"

Katniss gave Gale a sidelong glance. "I think we both have enough adrenaline running through us—we should probably avoid excess stimulants."

"Good call," Peeta said. "I've got peppermint tea or chamomile tea, if that would be better."

Katniss looked at her stonily silent companion again. "Chamomile sounds great."

Peeta busied himself with the kettle and stove. Katniss hadn't mentioned bringing Gale with her, but he should have known she would, given the circumstances. Still, the situation would have been awkward enough without him. Once the tea was brewing, Peeta turned to them and rubbed his hands together. "So, let's see the damage."

Gale and Katniss watched as he lifted the lid from the crushed cake box. The cake, well-dowelled as it had been, had slid and smashed, completely denting one side so the cake was no longer round, but half-moon shaped. Half the flowers were crushed against the side of the box, some dented and some broken.

In a pinched voice, Katniss asked, "Can you fix it?"

If it were just the frosting, he could do it, but the cake itself had been compromised. "I can't."

"Can't you at least _try_?" Gale snapped, the first words he'd spoken since stepping foot in the kitchen.

Katniss's eyes shot daggers at him. " _Gale_."

"Don't get mad at me," he protested. "Remember how it wasn't my fault? I was being _careful_."

"I know," she said. "But it certainly wasn't _his_ fault. Peeta's literally the only one who _might_ be able to help us, and he's under _no obligation to do so_. The least you can do is—"

"It's just a fucking _cake_!" he shouted over her.

The silence that greeted this declaration was deafening.

Katniss's eyes had turned to granite, and Peeta swallowed nervously. He sensed that a line had just been drawn.

When Katniss spoke, her voice was quiet, but tight as a bowstring. "Go home, Gale."

The muscles in Gale's jaw tightened. " _What_?"

Katniss placed herself between Peeta and Gale. "You need to leave."

Gale glanced angrily at Peeta over Katniss's head. "Hell no. I'm not leaving you here alone after closing with some guy—"

Katniss stepped toward him, forcing him to retreat. "Peeta Mellark saved mine and Prim's lives when we were starving. That's more than you ever did. So be careful what you're about to imply."

Gale realized he was losing, but he wouldn't give up while he thought he still had ammunition. "You don't have a way of getting home."

She sized him up. "Give me your keys, if you're so worried about it. You can take the bus home. I'll drop your car off tomorrow morning."

Gale's eyes shifted to Peeta again, then back to Katniss. "No, this is stupid. He already said he can't fix it, so let's just go. We can just pick up a sheet cake somewhere tomorrow—"

Katniss held up a hand to silence him. "Gale, I swear to god, if you say one more word, I will never speak to you again." She fixed him with an icy stare, daring him to test her. Then she turned to face Peeta, her eyes pleading. "Is there _anything_ you can do?"

Peeta struggled for words. He shook his head in dismay. "Half the cake is completely smashed. You can't just cover it up with frosting and hope no one notices." Her face fell, and it gutted him. He looked at the clock and shook his head again, already regretting what he was going to say. He was a fool. "I could try—" Her eyes snapped up to his. "I could try to make an emergency cake."

Katniss shook her head gently. "You spent days on this one. You can't remake it in one night. You know I have complete faith in your skill as a baker-magician, but that's gotta be too much, even for you."

The more he considered it, though, the more he was convinced he might actually be able to pull it off. He checked the ruined cake again, counting flowers this time. "Half of the flowers are still usable, if I'm careful, and actually, I still have some others left over in the fridge—I always make more than I need. So really, it'd just be the cakes, the fillings, and the frostings, and then assembly. I think I might be able do it." Katniss's eyes had turned hopeful again, and something else burned brightly there—pride, he thought, and it made him blush.

Katniss turned back to Gale. "There. He says he'll try. Satisfied?"

Gale had crossed his arms hostilely and leaned against the counter. "Overjoyed. Can we go now?"

" _You_ can go now," Katniss said. " _I_ intend to stay and help."

Gale scoffed. "You don't know the first thing about making a cake."

"I know you can probably make one faster if you have help." Katniss turned back to Peeta as if seeking his permission or his affirmation.

Peeta nodded once, and she nodded once in return before turning back to Gale. She held her hand out for his keys.

As Gale fished his keys out of his pocket, he pinned Peeta with a venomous stare, but Peeta held firm. Katniss moved to swipe the keys from Gale's hand, but his hand closed around hers, holding her there firmly. He pushed a piece of her rain-soaked hair back behind her ear. "Promise me you'll think about what we talked about."

"I don't need more time. I already told you." She took the keys and stepped away from him. "Do you need money for the bus?"

Gale glanced at Peeta one last time. "No, I'm fine." His eyes shifted back to Katniss's. "Call me if you need anything."

"It'll be fine. _We'll_ be fine," she said.

 _Fine. Yes, clearly_ , Peeta thought, _we're all fine_.

Quickly, Gale pulled Katniss to him in an embrace and kissed the side of her head before letting her go. "I'll see you tomorrow, Catnip." And then he was out the door.

Katniss stared after him a moment and then turned around to face Peeta. Her face was flushed red. "Sorry," she murmured.

It was Peeta's turn to blush. He went to the sink to wash his hands. "No, I should have given you both some privacy."

Katniss joined him at the sink to wash her hands, too. "I meant sorry about all of that. That wasn't about you, really. Gale's mostly mad at himself—and me. He should never have said any of that stuff. I don't think he actually means any of it."

Peeta shrugged and handed her a clean towel. "He seemed pretty mad."

Half of Katniss's smile appeared in a kind of apologetic grimace. "He has trouble controlling his temper. We're a lot like each other that way."

Peeta nodded, and then turned his attention to the smashed cake. He began carefully removing flowers and placing them on a clean plate.

Katniss came and leaned on the counter next to him. "That was meant to be the beginning of an apology," she said. "That's another thing Gale and I have in common—we're both awful at apologizing. We typically skip it and just move on, pretending like nothing happened. You know, bury the bodies and ask no questions."

"Sounds healthy," Peeta said.

She placed a cold hand on his sleeve, and he stopped. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry for how Gale treated you, both tonight and earlier when he came to pick up the cake. I'm sorry I didn't just suck it up and come in myself. And I'm really sorry for those things I said on Monday. It has not been a stellar week for Katniss Everdeen."

He looked at her, measuring her with his eyes. She looked sincere, but she also looked a little desperate. He wasn't sure he really wanted to know, but he had to ask. "And you're sure you're not saying all this just because you need my help?"

Katniss's cheeks flushed darker, but her grip tightened on his arm. "I'm not. I'm _grateful_ for your help—I practically owe you a life-debt as it is—but this whole mess just forced my hand." She looked at the mangled cake. "I was so embarrassed on Monday that everything came out wrong. I didn't mean what I said—I was, I don't know, upset, and panicked, and everything got kind of confused. And there you were, trying to help me— _again_ —" She let go of him and rubbed her palms over her face in residual embarrassment. "And I lashed out like a trapped bobcat. By the time I got home, I already knew I owed you an apology, but I was too embarrassed to come back here. You've been nothing but kindness and forgiveness and understanding itself as long as I've known you, little though I deserved any of it, and I couldn't stand feeling even more indebted to you. It felt easier to cut my losses and let you think poorly of me. It's what I deserved. Hell, it's the same thing I did back when we were kids." She carefully picked a flower out from the mess of frosting and set it on the plate. "But you're a good person, and you deserve better, regardless of whether you're willing to help me. I'm sorry I'm such a crappy friend. I hope I can make it up to you somehow."

They worked together in silence, freeing the flowers from the cake, while Peeta processed everything she'd said.

At last, he said, "You live your life according to a system of debts."

She paused and appraised him curiously. "Doesn't everyone?"

"I don't know about everyone."

"Then don't you?"

He watched her free the last flower. "It's hard for me to see how you could have real friendship, real love if you live that way."

She set the flower down on the plate. "What do you mean?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I guess I'd always be worried that people were only treating me well because they _had_ to—because they were obligated or indebted or worried I'd treat them poorly unless they treated me well—not because they actually cared for me or liked me."

"But that's how life is," she insisted. "That's how most people function. We keep people around because we need them. You become friends with someone if they need you back. When the need stops being mutual, you move on—you even out your debts and go on with your life."

Peeta frowned at her.

"What?"

"I don't think you really believe that," he said. He took the plates of flowers over to the fridge to chill.

"Why not?"

Peeta handed her two metal mixing bowls and half a dozen eggs. "Do you know how to separate eggs?"

She nodded.

Peeta began pulling more ingredients out, but when he went to the fridge again, he cursed aloud.

"What?" Katniss asked.

"We're out of lemons. Hang on." He went through a mental checklist of all the other supplies they'd need for the other cakes. "Shit. We're out of lavender extract. I forgot I used the last of it."

Katniss held up Gale's keys. "Just tell me where to go."

"Thom's will have the best produce, so go there for the lemons—grab a couple of bags since we need to restock anyway." He fished twenty dollars out of his wallet and handed it to her. "At least one bag should be Meyer lemons, though. Do you know the difference?"

Katniss merely raised an incredulous eyebrow.

Peeta rubbed a hand over his face. "Right. Plant expert. I forgot—forgive me. Problem is, no one will have lavender extract. I made it myself last time, and there's not enough time to remake it."

"Do you have lavender still—dried or fresh—or do you need more?" she asked.

"I used it all. But like I said, there's no time to make another batch."

"You're a magician," she said with a smile. "You'll figure it out."

He smiled shyly at her confidence in him.

"Anything else?" she asked.

"I think that's it."

She smiled. "Call me if you think of anything else you need. I should be back in an hour."

When the door closed, Peeta shook his head and took stock of the kitchen and the night ahead. He might be a fool, but he was finding it more and more difficult to care.

* * *

Peeta rushed to the back door to answer the frantic knocking. Katniss nearly knocked him over in her eagerness to get inside. She wordlessly pushed the bags of lemons into his arms and then met his eyes. Her hands were full of bunches of fresh lavender, but she looked a little like a half-drowned cat. He couldn't help it—his eyes crinkled up at the sight. She raised an impish eyebrow, and then she shook her hair and the lavender at him, splattering both of them and the narrow entryway with water. This set both of them laughing.

They set everything down on the giant island counter, and Peeta grabbed the last of the clean dishtowels. Katniss shivered as she rung out her hair.

"I can't believe it's still coming down like that out there," Peeta said.

"Buckets," she breathed, pulling Peeta's change from her pocket and plopping it soggily on the counter.

"Now watch," he said. "It'll be swamp-like and hot and humid tomorrow. Just in time for the party."

"I know," she said. "Just my luck."

Katniss was nowhere near dry, but all the towels were drenched. They had a small washer and dryer in the back office so they didn't have to tote bakery laundry home and back, and this gave Peeta an idea. "Rye and I both keep a spare set of clothes in the back if you want to borrow something dry—we can throw your clothes in the dryer while we work on the cakes."

Katniss shivered again. "That'd be great."

She emerged from the back a few minutes later in his sweatpants, orange t-shirt, and grey zip-up hoodie. They were almost comically oversized on her small frame, but she didn't seem self-conscious about it. She pulled her hands from the hoodie pocket and rubbed them together to warm them. "What can I do?"

Peeta had already finished the lemon cake's sponge and put it in the oven, so he started her on the vanilla cake. Peeta went to work trying to figure out what to do with the lavender. He'd worked with dried lavender before, and had made a simple vodka-based extract to add to the earl grey tea, steeping it in a little milk, but now he had fresh lavender and no time for an extract. He poured four mugs of strong tea and added different amounts of lavender to steep in each one. He ended up throwing them all out.

"Not working?" Katniss asked.

He put two pans to heat on the stove and added a good bit of unsalted butter in each. "I'll figure something out," he said. He added a helping of loose leaf earl grey to one pot and he stripped the buds from several stalks of lavender to add to the other.

While he waited for the butter to melt, he helped Katniss with the next few steps on the other cake, getting her set up to use the mixers.

"We've never had a mixer at home. You have to do everything by hand," she said over the whir of the machines.

"My mom wouldn't let us use the mixers until we could prove we could do whatever we needed to do by hand," Peeta said. "I feel your pain."

He went to stir the pots on the stove. The tea leaves were beginning to uncurl a bit, but he couldn't smell tea yet.

"I've never heard you talk about your mom before," Katniss said, following him. She peered down into the pots and wrinkled her nose.

"She and Dad divorced when I was eleven," he said. "Dad filed a restraining order, and we haven't seen her since."

Katniss's eyebrows shot up in concern.

"You think _Gale_ has anger problems," he said bleakly, by way of explanation.

"I'm sorry, Peeta," she said. "I didn't know."

"It's okay." He rolled his eyes and smiled. "I mean, it's _not_ okay, it _wasn't_ okay, but things are okay now. They were a little dire back then, but we found our way. It took a hospitalization for Dad to snap out of his denial about it and do something. He kind of overcompensated for a little while after that, but we found balance eventually."

"You were hospitalized?" she asked.

Peeta rubbed at his stubble. He didn't like to think about it. "There was an incident with a rolling pin. I've got some nerve damage in my legs still from it."

Her mouth opened in shock. "That's why you're so loud when you walk."

He laughed. "I've always been a little clumsy, but yeah, it certainly didn't help things."

"I'm so sorry," she said. "I never would have joked about it before if—"

Peeta held his hands up. "No, really, I'm not offended or anything. You'd have to do a lot worse than that to get a black mark in my book." He stirred the pots again. "Where did you get all this lavender?"

She leaned against the counter and pushed the sleeves of his hoodie up. "You know that little grove of trees up near twenty-sixth, just where the farmland starts again?"

"Are you telling me you foraged and harvested wild lavender for this cake? In the rain? _In the dark_?"

She shrugged. "It's my job to know what plants are growing where."

Peeta smiled and shook his head.

She crossed her arms in what Peeta now recognized as a self-conscious gesture. "What?"

"You're just something else, Katniss Everdeen."

She pressed her lips together. "You should talk."

"I think you'll find a lot more bakers in the world than expert botanical…forestry…persons…" he finished lamely.

"Botanical survey technicians," she corrected with a smile. "And you're not just a baker, Peeta. You're like a pastry and baked good god—you're an artist _and_ a scientist."

He laughed and elbowed her lightly. "You should say that sometime when Rye's here. He suffers under the delusion that his piecrust is better than mine."

"I don't think I'm qualified to judge," she said, "but you'll forever have my blind and biased loyalty."

Peeta grinned. "Would you check the mixers for me?" he asked. "We don't want to overbeat anything."

She went and turned the mixers off. "What am I looking for?"

"The one with the butter and sugar should be light and fluffy. For the egg whites, we're looking for soft peaks."

"Butter and sugar are there," she reported. "How soft are soft peaks?"

"Switch," he called out, handing her the wooden spoon he'd been using at the stove. "Give a shout when you can smell a good amount of tea."

They worked this way for the next hour or so, working together and switching off on tasks that required Peeta's expertise. Peeta was pleased to find her as helpful as she was. When they'd gotten the remaining two batters in the ovens, they agreed to take a break.

"I'll bet you haven't eaten dinner yet," Peeta said with a yawn and a stretch. "I know I haven't."

Katniss yawned in sympathy and looked at her phone. "I can't believe it's almost ten already."

"Want a sandwich?" Peeta asked.

Katniss shrugged.

"Let me try that again. I'm making you a sandwich," Peeta insisted. "What kind would you like?"

"Turkey's my favorite," she admitted. "But I can make the sandwiches, if you'll just tell me what you'd like on yours."

"I don't mind," he said, gathering ingredients from the fridge.

"I do," she insisted. "Sit down, Peeta. You haven't stopped moving since I got here, and I bet you were on your feet all day before that. It's the least I can do."

Peeta shook his head, but he complied. He hopped up onto the counter and watched her assemble their sandwiches.

"Any chance you have some of that cranberry mustard?" Katniss asked, sifting through jars of various condiments and jams and curds.

"Too early for cranberry season," Peeta said.

She pulled out a jar of mayo and nudged the fridge door closed. "That sandwich you made me when we were kids—it was the best sandwich I've ever had. I've always wondered since then if it was actually that good, or if it was good just because I was starving. I mostly assumed it was the latter—until I came back here for that first tasting. Now I'm willing to bet it really was that good."

Peeta smiled bashfully. "I'll make you another one sometime," he offered. "When my dad makes another batch of the mustard."

Katniss nodded.

"You know what else goes great with turkey and cheese and tomato?" he asked. "Pesto. There should be a tub on the third shelf, unless Rye used it for something."

Katniss found the tub and nodded her approval. "Good call."

He watched her finish her assembly in silence, admiring the graceful movement of her small frame and the impossibility of this situation. She was here, in his kitchen, making him dinner, wearing his clothes. If he didn't know better, he would have thought he was dreaming.

She poured them each a glass of iced tea mixed with a little lemonade, and then she brought Peeta his plate. He patted the counter next to him, and she gracefully hopped up. He clinked his glass against hers before they dug in in companionable silence.

When they finished, Katniss hopped down and took his plate to the dishwasher. "What next?" she called from across the room.

Peeta hopped down and closed his eyes and stretched his arms high above his head. "Fillings," he said. "Then frostings." When he opened his eyes, he caught Katniss looking at his torso. He brought his arms down to his sides again, and she looked down to the floor. "Lemons. We need to make the two lemon curds."

He put Katniss to work juicing lemons while he grated and sliced tiny pieces of lemon peel.

"Do you need me to start cutting strawberries?" she asked when she'd gotten enough juice of each kind.

"Actually, I have plenty of the strawberry balsamic filling already made. I made a triple batch because I wanted to have some leftover for a few potential pastry experiments."

"I volunteer as a test subject," Katniss deadpanned, coming to stand beside him.

"Top secret for now," he said. "But I'll let you have first taste once it's past the mad scientist phase."

"Do you have anything else for me to do?" she asked.

He glanced at her. "Keep me company while I finish these?"

She smiled and hopped up onto the counter. She swung her legs gently and watched him whisk the contents of the two saucepans.

"Hey Peeta?" she asked.

"Yeah?" He kept his eyes on the thickening lemon curd.

"What did you mean earlier? About debts and friendship and love? You said you didn't believe me."

He tested the thickness of the honeyed curd and determined it likely needed a minute or two more. "I think I actually said I didn't think that _you_ believed what you were saying."

"How could I not?" she said, nettled. "I always pay back debts when I incur them, and I try to avoid debts whenever possible. I trust people only if I know I can depend on them, if we have a history of reciprocity. If I did anything else, I'd be endangering my livelihood. That's how sane people live, Peeta. That's what poverty teaches you. Owing and paying, needing and getting. You can romanticize love and friendship all you want, but that's what it boils down to in the end."

"I see what you mean and where you're coming from," he said carefully. He took the lemon curd off the burner and whisked it thoroughly. "And I see how that's how you live much of your life. But then, here you are—helping make an elaborate cake." He checked the honeyed curd and took it off the burner, too.

"This just demonstrates my point," she said. "I came here for the cake in the first place to pay back that debt from when we were kids. I wanted to be even—cancel the debt and be done. I'm here helping tonight because I need this cake, and I need you to make it for me, and I'll be paying you back for this for ages, I'm sure, and for all the million little debts I'll probably incur along the way. At this rate, you'll probably never be rid of me."

Peeta set his whisk aside. "First, I don't _want_ to be rid of you—I want to be your friend. Second, that wasn't what I meant about the cake. I meant that you're forgetting about Prim."

Katniss's shoulders stiffened. "What about Prim?"

"You love her," he said, "without any thought of debt or reciprocity. She's your first priority in practically every decision you make. You didn't commission this cake in order to pay back a debt to her, and I don't think you did it because you expect her to reciprocate somehow. You told me yourself you did it because she'd love it and you wanted her to have it."

Katniss was silent.

Peeta shrugged.

"But then what about me and Gale?" she asked.

"What about you and Gale?" Peeta asked gently.

"We trade, we owe, we give, we pay back. Are you saying that isn't real?"

He sighed. "I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to pry into your business."

"But you are saying that, aren't you?"

Blessedly, the oven timer went off. Peeta tested and retrieved the final two cakes and set them out to cool.

He took a deep breath, preparing to face her again, but then he startled, finding her already at his side.

"So damn _quiet_ ," he said, rubbing at his chest to calm his heart down.

She stomped her feet on the linoleum. "Better?"

"Much. Thanks." He moved to the fridge to retrieve the ingredients for the buttercream.

Katniss hopped up on the island now and irritably knocked her heel against the cabinet beneath her. "What's so bad about needing each other?"

"Nothing," Peeta said. "I'm a baker—I need farmers to grow and harvest wheat, and I need customers to buy what I make. But it doesn't make me friends with them. I'm not saying you _don't_ love Gale, and you're the one who brought him up, mind you. All I'm trying to say is that the relationship you have with Prim—doesn't it _feel_ more real, more full and sure than the kind of relationship you have with someone you're friends with because you need them?"

Katniss's feet stilled. She sat a while in contemplation while Peeta added ingredients to the mixing bowls.

"But don't you feel cheated?" she asked at last.

"Hm?"

"It's unfair, isn't it? Your friends might take advantage of you, or you might constantly find yourself bearing what ought to be someone else's burdens. Is that how you live?"

"Is that how it feels with you and Prim?" he asked.

She cautiously shook her head. "It doesn't make sense."

Peeta shrugged. "Watch the mixers for me? Let me know when everything starts to come together and get fluffy."

Katniss took his post and started the mixers while Peeta worked on the candied lemon rind. He felt awful for making Katniss doubt her relationships, even if he thought he was right. It wasn't his place to interfere in her life.

A few minutes later, she called him over for his opinion on the frostings. He declared them sufficiently fluffy, and then went back to candying at the stove. He cleared his throat. "For what it's worth," he offered, "I think Gale cares a lot for you."

She joined him at the stove and crossed her arms. "How do you know?"

"He's very protective of you, for one. And then there's the way he looks at you, and the way he looks at anyone else who's looking at you."

"Who else is looking at me?"

This was not the question Peeta had anticipated, but he answered truthfully. "Lots of people."

Katniss scoffed.

He shrugged. "Think what you like."

"How would you possibly know? We've only spent time together maybe half a dozen times, and Gale's barely been around half of those times."

Peeta fished the last pieces of lemon rind out of the sugar syrup. "I pay attention," he offered simply.

Katniss rubbed tiredly at her forehead. "And I don't, I guess. That's my problem."

Peeta looked up at her, silently inquiring.

Her cheeks flushed pink, and she rubbed her face more aggressively and let out a quiet groan. "Gale asked me out. Earlier tonight. Right before the, uh, cake incident."

A cascade of new information flooded Peeta's brain. They weren't dating? Well, maybe they were now. But they _hadn't_ been. _Why_ hadn't they been? Why now? What actually came out of his mouth was merely, "Oh?"

Katniss bit at her fingernail and nodded. "I told him no. I kept trying to articulate why, but he kept arguing with everything I said. It made me so mad—both of us, I guess. That's when we saw the deer, and Gale tried to stop, and we hydroplaned." She rubbed at her shoulder.

Peeta put together the ingredients for the white chocolate and elderflower ganache and set the pot to heat on the stove.

"I think you might be right," she said, breaking the silence. "I don't love Gale like how I love Prim. We wouldn't have become friends if we hadn't needed each other, and if we stop relying on each other for things, I think we'll probably drift apart. I don't understand how he can possibly think that we would work as a couple."

"I think he thinks you're equal," Peeta offered. "And he needs someone who can match him, wit for wit, skill for skill."

"Tantrum for tantrum, more like. I don't understand how he can think that. I'd think he'd want someone who agreed with him all the time and let him have his way. I'm too stubborn for that. We say do and say such awful things to each other sometimes."

Peeta smirked. "Maybe he likes fighting with you. Maybe he'd rather fight with you than get along with someone else."

Katniss sighed. "And that's the problem. I just want to live my life. I don't want to spend it fighting."

Peeta put Katniss in charge of the ganache and instructed her to keep a watchful eye on it while he cut and filled the lavender cake. She brought him the ganache when he finished, and they watched the temperature gauge slowly drop toward the desired point.

"On Monday when we fought," Peeta said gently, "it was about debts and owing, too. I didn't really understand at the time. I'm sorry for keeping you in the dark about payment protocol—I really didn't mean anything by it, and I especially wasn't trying to make you feel like I was doing you some kind of unnecessary favor."

"I get that now," she said. "I don't fully understand it yet, but I think I can see what you were intending. I'm sorry for assuming you were trying to manipulate me. That was really unfair."

Peeta met her remorseful smile with one of his own. "Great. So now we're even."

She laughed. "Hardly. But I'm trying to accept it anyway."

Peeta's smile grew into a genuine one.

"I'm guessing we're moving on to assembly next," she said. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Peeta pressed his lips together. "It's mostly a one-man job from here on out—unless you have secret frosting skills you haven't told me about."

Katniss smirked. "I tried making a cake for Prim once when she was ten or eleven. She told me over and over that she liked how ugly it looked on the outside because it made the insides seem so much nicer by comparison. She thought she was being encouraging."

Peeta grinned. "Speaking of ugly cakes—you could help me out by eating some of that ruined mess over there," he suggested.

Katniss raised an eyebrow.

"What else am I going to do with it?" he asked. "Make a million cake pops? Who has the time for that?"

"If you're sure," she said, slipping over to a cabinet to retrieve a plate.

"Someone might as well enjoy it."

Katniss produced two forks from a drawer. "Only if you enjoy it with me."

"Twist my arm," he said with a smile.

As Peeta began smoothing the ganache over the little lavender cake, Katniss sighed and smiled and savored each bite of cake. Eventually, softly, she started humming.

They kept each other company late into the night while Peeta continued assembling and frosting the cakes. He was exhausted—and perfectly happy.


	6. Chapter 6

It was the early hours of the morning, and Peeta was doweling the cake for assembly. Katniss had been yawning more and more the past hour while he'd frosted the cakes.

"You don't have to stick around for this part," Peeta said. "There's really nothing left for you to do."

"Except keep you company," she said through a yawn. "I'm sorry," she said for the third time. "I don't know why I'm so tired."

"Maybe because it's three a.m., and you had a ton of adrenaline coursing through you tonight because of the accident? That'd be enough to knock anyone out by now."

"I'm sorry I'm such terrible company," she said remorsefully.

"You're great company," he soothed. And then, "I wouldn't want anyone else."

She smiled sleepily at him, her chin resting in her palm as she leaned over the counter and watched him. "You're too nice, Peeta Mellark."

"I'm sorry," he said. "Should I try to be more like Rye? Give surly, one-word answers and frown at all the customers?"

"You know what I mean," she said.

"Is this your way of thanking me?"

Her face went suddenly slack. "Oh my god. Have I not even said thank you yet?"

Peeta frowned.

"I didn't," she said, burying her face in her hands. "This whole night. I can't believe—"

He reached across the counter and gently pried one hand away.

She looked at him, embarrassed. "Thank you. _Thank you_. I can't tell you how grateful I am."

Peeta met her eyes steadily. "I really wasn't fishing for thanks, but you're welcome. I'm really glad I could help." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze before letting it go and turning back to his work. "So where does Prim think you are tonight?" he asked after a stretch of silence.

"Spending the night at Johanna Mason's," she said. "You remember her? From high school?"

He nodded.

"She had the biggest crush on your brother back then," she said.

This piqued Peeta's curiosity. "On Rye or Miche?"

"Rye," she said. "She acknowledged that you were the better wrestler, which took some convincing, but she regularly made me attend matches with her just so she could ogle his ass."

Peeta burst out in laughter.

"Can you blame a girl?" she asked with a yawn. "Those uniforms…"

Peeta blushed. "I noticed you there sometimes. I wasn't sure if you knew someone on the team."

"Just you," she said. "You were really good."

"Thanks," he said, ducking his head in embarrassment.

"Just between friends?" she mock-whispered, leaning closer across the counter to him.

He leaned in.

"You looked way better than your brother ever did in that wrestling uniform."

His face went instantly hot. He could feel the tips of his ears glowing red. He couldn't meet her eyes, so he fiddled with his frosting knife. All this time he thought she'd hated him in high school. It was probably just the lateness of the hour that made her say it. Exhaustion could be worse than alcohol sometimes, kicking down your inhibitions and stealing away your good judgment. "I didn't think you noticed me at all back then," he admitted.

She frowned. "How could I not? You were the hottest guy in our year, Peeta. You made the top of the list on the bathroom wall, for crying out loud."

Peeta grimaced. "Delly told me about that. I thought it was a joke."

"The bathroom wall never lies," she said with a grin. Then, after a moment, "I spent so much of high school wallowing in my own embarrassment and trying desperately to keep food on the table at home. That's why I never talked to you. I tried my hardest to fly under the radar. I was terrified of being noticed and reported."

It was Peeta's turn to frown now. "What do you mean?"

"Your dad?" she said, frowning.

Peeta shook his head, confused.

"My mom went catatonic, Peeta. After my dad died. She couldn't function, didn't really even get out of bed for the first few months. Money and food ran out, and I didn't know what to do. I took some of my mom's jewelry to the pawn shop just so we could have bread and peanut butter for school lunches. That's when I met Gale."

Katniss traced a finger in a slow pattern across the counter as she told her tale, and Peeta watched her, transfixed.

"Gale's dad died the year before, but Gale was a little older than me when it had happened. He lied about his age and convinced someone to hire him without a worker's permit at that flooring warehouse near the freeway just so he could make ends meet for his family. He's got all these younger siblings, and his mom was struggling away at a minimum wage job. He said someone had called Child Protective Services on them because his younger brothers had been begging food from other kids at school. It was a near thing—he and his siblings nearly got taken away, split up, and put into foster care. If Gale hadn't gotten that job, he said that's what would have happened. And then there I was with the same problem, and I _couldn't_ get a job—I was small and thin enough that no one would believe I was my _actual_ age, let alone old enough to have a worker's permit."

She looked up at him then. "That day when you found me in the alley…" She swallowed. "I was so desperate. I'd pawned everything in our house that I could, and I had no options left. And then there you were, witness to my misery and failure, and I was so terrified you were going to tell someone, and Prim and I would lose each other."

Peeta puzzled over this. "My dad offered you help, but you never came back."

Katniss shook her head. "He said he'd be watching to see if we had enough. That was as good as a threat to call CSP as far as I was concerned."

Peeta let out a heavy breath and ran a hand through his hair. "So all those times when you avoided me at school or scowled at me—"

"I didn't know if you were reporting back to your dad or what, but I sure as hell made sure Prim and I always had a respectable lunch at school. I picked up odd-jobs around town, mowing lawns and pulling weeds, cleaning, babysitting—basically anything people needed and were willing to pay for. Eventually I found my dad's field guides and started foraging, too, and then when Gale and I became friends, we started hunting snakes and squirrels and rabbits outside of town to supplement. That got us by until I turned fifteen and got a job at Sae's."

Peeta wanted to cry. He shook his head. "My dad never meant to scare you like that. He only wanted to help, I'm sure of it."

Katniss sighed. "I realize that now. But at the time, there was no way I was going to show my face back here if I could help it. I was so terrified of your dad. I had nightmares in high school about Prim being taken away because I couldn't afford a sugar cookie for her when she wanted one." She shivered at the memory.

Peeta came around the island and pulled her into a hug. She was stiff for a moment, but then she began to relax. When he let go, he held onto her shoulders and stared her straight in the eye. "I had no idea. Katniss, I can't even begin to say how sorry I am that you went through all that—that you had to bear all of that by yourself."

"It's okay, Peeta," she said. "I'm okay, and Prim too. Even my mom, now. She's able to work and everything."

"I'm glad," he said, "but no teenager should ever have to go through something like that."

She shrugged. "We survived."

Peeta's throat grew tight with emotion—anger, deep sadness, compassion. He crushed her to him again, and miraculously, she let him hold her. Her head came to rest on his chest, and her arms settled lightly against his back.

In a burst of emotion and exhaustion, he kissed the top of her head. She smelled like lavender and rain and pine sap.

"What was that for?" she murmured into his shirt.

He let out a soft sigh. "I'm honored that you came to me for help tonight. And I'm relieved that it was for something I could actually help with."  
She hugged him tighter before letting him go. As she moved away, her face was a little pink.

"Hey, we're friends, right?" he asked.

"I guess," she said.

"No, I mean we're deciding to be friends now, right?"

She shook her head. "I don't think that's usually how it works."

"To hell with usually," he said. "If we decide it's so, then it's so. Skip over all the parts where we dance around it because we're insecure. Are we friends?"

"Yeah, we are," she said firmly.

"And friends take care of each other?"

She smirked. "Right."

"And that means they can count on each other without owing and paying back, okay?"

Her mouth softened into a shy smile.

He squeezed her hands in his. "And that means you can count on me, no matter what. For anything, even if you think you've been a crappy friend. Okay?"

She blinked rapidly, and her voice came out in a whisper. "Okay."

He hugged her again quickly and gave her another quick kiss on the side of her head because he couldn't help himself, and then he released her.

"I want you to be able to count on me, too," she said as he went back to work. "I don't know if you can, as I seem to have failed several of the most basic tests so far. But I want to be a good friend."

He smiled at her from across the counter. "That's good enough for me."

Peeta finished stacking the cakes, and he retrieved the chocolate flowers from the fridge. This would be the last step. He stretched his arms and his back, and then he began to lay the flowers out in groupings, testing their size, shape, and colors alongside one another.

Katniss yawned again. "Peeta?"

"Yeah?"

"How did you know that I knew about flowers and plants and things? That was before I told you I was a survey tech."

 _How do I say this without sounding like a stalker?_ He cleared his throat. "I remember you knowing about that kind of stuff in grade school, and then you were top of the class in AP Bio. You always seemed to have a knack."

She digested this for a moment. "And what about music? When we were trying to pick the right flowers for the cake, you talked about—what was it?"

"Symbolic keys," he said, nodding.

"Right. And you explained how they work in music because that was more familiar to me. How did you know about that?"

"You were in choir in junior high, weren't you?"

She shook her head, her silver eyes crinkling at the corners. "How could you possibly remember that?"

Peeta felt his cheeks warm. "You have the prettiest singing voice I've ever heard."

She scoffed.

" _Ever_ ," he said, his eyes fiercely serious.

She watched him for a minute.

Since she didn't seem to have any follow-up questions, he asked, "Do you still sing?"

She considered this. "I didn't for a long time after my dad died. Everything was so hard then, it was almost like I'd forgotten how. But I sing now from time to time—now that things are better."

Peeta nodded and carefully placed the first grouping of blossoms on the top tier of the cake.

"I know you make gorgeous cakes," she said. "Do you still draw?"

Peeta raised his eyebrows but didn't look up from his work. "I do. And paint."

"Your art was always the best in our class growing up. I remember when we were in junior high you painted a mountain scene with a meadow once, and I secretly wished I could live inside that little picture. It seemed so perfect."

Peeta had paused in his work while she talked. "I barely remember making that—I'm surprised you remember it at all."

She shrugged. "It made me feel happy during a time when happiness was rare. You painted dandelions in the meadow. That's actually when I got the idea to look at my dad's field guides. We ate a lot of dandelion and mustard green salads that spring. Every time I gathered dandelions, it made me think of that painting."

It was late, and it might have been a terrible decision, but, "Just the painting?" he asked.

She smiled ruefully. "I thought of you, too, but at the time it was pretty impossible to separate thinking of you from my feelings of embarrassment and fear and that sense of crushing debt."

"But you can separate them now?" He carefully placed a second grouping of flowers onto the second tier.

"I'm here, aren't I?" she asked.

He smiled and shook his head.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing."

" _What_?"

He shrugged but couldn't extinguish his smile. "I'm really glad you're here."

"Yeah, I'm certain this was exactly how you wanted to spend your Friday night."

He laughed.

"Seriously," she said. "You can't expect me to buy that."

"Why not?" He placed a third cluster of flowers along the bottom tier of the cake.

"You're popular."

Now it was his turn to scoff. "Likeable is not the same as popular."

" _Top of the list on the bathroom wall_ ," she reminded him.

He smiled and shrugged. "I must have peaked early."

The incredulous look she gave him sent a thrill through his body.

He began filling in the gaps on the cake with the remaining flowers. "I guess I know a lot of people, but keeping baker's hours makes it hard to keep up with a social life. My friend circle is actually pretty small—Delly, Rye, Finn, a couple of guys from my business classes in college… that's pretty much it. And you, now, of course." He smiled at her.

She came around the counter to watch him work. "So I haven't managed to interrupt your plans for this weekend with my cake emergency?"

He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Well, there was this party I got invited to that's happening tomorrow night, but I don't know if the girl really meant it when she invited me."

Katniss rolled her eyes. "Of course I meant it. I, for one, am not in the habit of saying things I don't mean."

Peeta pressed a palm to his chest in mock offense. "One, I am deeply hurt by the insinuation that I have been anything but genuine with you. And _two_ , how do you know I was talking about you?"

Katniss's cheeks turned pink, but Peeta let his eyes linger long enough on her for her to catch the glint in his eye. She slugged him in the arm.

"Hey!" he laughed. "Artist at work here, remember? Do you want this cake or not?"

She gave him a frustrated smile. "I want this cake."

"Then treat the baker with care. He's fragile and sleepy and prone to make errors."

"Sleepy, I believe," she said, catching herself in another yawn. She closed her eyes.

Peeta watched her prop her head up in her palm as she leaned against the counter, his sweatshirt sleeve adorably swallowing her hand. "You know," he said, "if you wanted, you could go take a quick nap in the front of the store. The booths can be pretty comfortable, actually."

"You're not finished," she said.

"But I will be soon. And you'll need to be awake enough to drive home. You're practically falling asleep on your feet." She was, and it was _adorable_.

"I can sleep anywhere," she said sleepily. "I slept all night in a tree once."

"I believe you. But sleeping in your car while you're driving is generally not considered a good idea. And look: I just put the last flower on, so you have no excuse. Go sleep for half an hour, and I'll do some dishes and make us both some coffee. Okay?"

She peered at him from under her heavy eyelids and gently punched him in the shoulder again. "You're too nice, Peeta Mellark." She pushed off the counter and headed toward the door.

Peeta took one last look at the cake to make sure it looked okay before picking it up to put in the refrigerator. As he turned from the counter to the fridge, it was as if time slowed.

He felt his ankle give out—the one with the worse nerve damage. He tried to catch himself on his other leg, but that one twisted and gave out, too. He registered that he was falling. He cried out, his mind filling with visions of what he knew would happen next: the cake, falling, tipping, smashing on the floor in an irreparable heap—

But then somehow he wasn't falling. He was being held up.

"Cake—counter!" Katniss squeaked out from behind him. She heaved him up higher, and his shaking arms carefully slid the cake back onto the counter.

They both froze for a second, assessing the damage: the cake was fine. It wasn't even leaning.

The two of them collapsed in a heap on the floor.

Peeta panted to catch his breath, his heart hammering a million miles a minute. "Are you okay?" he gasped out.

"Am I okay? Are _you_ okay?" she replied, sitting up to look him over.

Peeta touched his hand to his right ankle and winced. "That's going to be sore for a few days."

"What happened?" Katniss asked.

"Nerve damage. It does that sometimes—gives out—when I overuse it."

Katniss leaned her head against his shoulder. "I can't believe you let me keep you on your feet all night after you'd already been on your feet all day."

He looked at her flushed face, her bright, silver eyes, and he thought, _I'd do anything for you_. But he said, "I wasn't thinking straight."

She laughed a little, relieved.

"I can't believe you caught me," he said with his own little laugh.

"Small but mighty," she said.

"And _fast_. God."

"Photographer's reflexes, I guess. Ugh, I feel like my whole body is made out of spaghetti, now," she said, holding up her shaking hands.

Peeta held up his hands, too, and they both laughed.

"I can't believe—" Peeta gasped for air— "your first priority—was the _cake_."

This sent them into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. Exhaustion, adrenaline, and the giddiness of a small, shared victory took their toll on them.

Peeta reached up, still shaking with laughter, and wiped a tear from the corner of Katniss's eye, which only made the two of them laugh harder.  
He pulled her to him, and she collapsed in his arms, her face pressed into his neck as they rode out the waves of hysteria.

He kissed her forehead. "My savior," he said with a grin.

She laughed, reaching up and pecking him on the cheek. "I couldn't let all your hard work go to waste— _again_."

He laughed and hugged her closer, nuzzling her cheek with his nose.

And then—

And then there was so little space between them. And it was possible that all the air in the room was gone. He was caught in her eyes and her smile, and then she was looking at his lips, and still smiling—

Peeta's lips brushed gently against hers, and he felt her softly inhale. He paused, decided. He kissed her, and it was like music, like sunset, like all the colors at once. She tasted like lemon and lavender and sweet honey, the labor of his love on her lips.

And when she kissed him back, her kiss was like laughter, but edged with flame. He wanted to drink her in.

He brushed the loose strands of her dark hair back, his fingers tangling a little in the waves that the rain had made. She brushed the fingers of one hand lightly against the stubble at his jaw as her other hand slid gently up his arm, moving lingeringly over his muscles.

A moment later, the sound of the lock turning at the back door had them springing apart and scrambling to their feet. Peeta's heart hammered and his ankle twinged angrily at him, but he straightened his apron and ran a hand through his hair before turning to face the door.

Peeta's father stood frozen in the doorway. His eyes methodically took in Katniss and Peeta and the mess in the kitchen. "Late night?" he asked.

Peeta's face had gone true red—carmine—he was sure. As if all his previous blushes had merely been practice for this one. He scratched the back of his neck and tried to meet his father's eyes. He couldn't believe it was already four-thirty, and he cursed himself for not keeping a closer eye on the time. "Cake emergency," he said lamely.

"Right," his dad said, "I think Rye mentioned something."

"I just finished," Peeta said. "Nearly dropped the dang thing on the way to the fridge, but Katniss caught me and we managed to save it."

His father's eyes widened a bit as he looked back to Katniss. "Katniss Everdeen."

Peeta noticed how very still she went beside him. He knew she must be battling fight or flight, and he wished he could take her hand to help ground her, but he was afraid of making it worse.

Peeta's father's wary expression turned soft, a smile beginning to curl his lips. "I'll be damned. I didn't recognize you at first, as it's been so long. How's that sister of yours?"

Katniss cleared her throat. "She's doing fine, sir. Turning sixteen tomorrow, as a matter of fact." Her voice was a little rough around the edges.

"That's who the cake is for," Peeta supplied. "That's why it was so important to stay and finish it."

"Rye didn't mention that," his father said. He stepped up to the counter to get a better look at the cake. "Sweet thing like her deserves a beautiful cake on her birthday. Nice job, Peet." He patted Peeta on the back.

"And how's your mother?" his father pressed, turning to Katniss again. "She's doing alright, too?"

Katniss's lips tightened in what Peeta recognized as an attempt at a smile. "Working at the hospital four days a week," she said.

He nodded. "And you?"

"We're all doing fine. Thanks for asking."

"Katniss works with the forestry department, and she's a professional nature photographer," Peeta told him.

"Is that right?"

No one seemed to know what to say after that.

"Would either of you like coffee?" his father asked at last. "I need to get started on this morning's loaves and pastries, but I always start with a fresh pot of coffee."

"Thanks, but I should really be getting home," Katniss said, beginning to move toward the door.

"It'll only take a few minutes," he pushed.

She shook her head. "I've kept your son here late enough already. I don't want him to sacrifice any more of his sleep, if I can help it."

His father nodded. "That's thoughtful of you. I hope you'll stop by again soon, though."

"Yeah, me too," she said.

Peeta's father disappeared into the front of the store, ostensibly to make coffee, though Peeta suspected he was trying to give them a moment or two of privacy.

Katniss let out a long breath, and Peeta caught her eye.

She shook her head and her eyes flicked away from his. "It's late."

Peeta shrugged. "Or early."

"I should go."

"Your clothes are in the dryer," Peeta said, popping around the corner to go retrieve them.

Katniss accepted the neatly folded stack from him. She tugged nervously at the neckline of his hoodie, still not making eye contact. "Do you mind—"

He waved off her concern. "Just get them back to me sometime. Whenever."

She nodded and turned to the door, and he followed her out the door and over to Gale's truck. It had stopped raining, but the air was still thick with the scent of it. She swung herself up into the driver's seat, adjusted the seat and the mirrors in an efficient and well-practiced way, and wordlessly buckled in.

She was distancing herself, and it was killing him. After everything—all the talking, the jokes, the teasing, the _kissing_ … Maybe he'd pushed it too far. Or maybe it was just the run-in with his dad that had set her on edge.

"I'll deliver the cake tomorrow for the party," Peeta said, holding the car door open. "I want to make sure it gets a good twelve hours in the fridge so we don't risk any more accidents." He pointed a finger at her. "And don't you say a word about owing me or paying me back. We're done with debts, remember?"

Katniss shook her head and blew out another long breath. "What a night."

He stepped a little closer. "You sure you're okay? You'll be awake enough to drive?"

She glanced at him quickly and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm definitely awake now," she said, blinking rapidly. "See you tomorrow, Peeta."

"Goodnight, Katniss." He closed the door softly and watched her drive away.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: It's a day late, but it's here! I got a little stuck on this chapter flow-wise, and it took a while to push through it. But it's finally party time! Yay! Enjoy!**

Peeta's father was sipping coffee in the kitchen when Peeta came back inside.

"So," his dad said, eyeing the cake on the counter. "Katniss Everdeen."

"Yep," Peeta said simply.

Peeta limped to the counter and carefully lifted the cake again. His father opened the refrigerator door and helped him slide it smoothly in.

"I knew you were working hard on that cake, but I didn't know who it was for," his dad said.

Peeta let out an exhausted sigh. "I'm surprised Rye didn't mention it. He's been hassling me about it for weeks."

"Has he?" his father mused, taking a long sip of coffee.

Silently willing his dad not to ask any more questions, Peeta rounded up bowls, utensils, and baking tins and took them to the sink.

His father cleared his throat. "Are we going to need to, uh, sanitize the floor?"

Puzzled, Peeta turned to look at his father, who was eyeing the place where Peeta and Katniss had been sitting when he'd walked in.

The baking tin dropped from Peeta's hands with a loud clatter. He picked it up, sputtering. "Dad, no—it's not like—we only—I can't believe—"

His dad held up a hand to calm him. "Alright, okay—just asking. You do have two older brothers, you know. It's not the first time I've found one of you in here alone with a girl."

Peeta scrubbed at the back of his neck. "Didn't really need to know that."

His dad laughed softly. "I just need to know if we're running the risk of a health code violation."

Peeta didn't find this funny. He began scrubbing out cake crumbs and dried frosting. "We kissed a little. That was all."

"Okay," his dad said. He came up behind him and looked at the mess of dishes in the sink. "Your leg's bothering you. Why don't you go home, Peet, and I'll finish this for you."

"You don't have to," Peeta protested. "It's my mess, and it was my choice to do this tonight."

"Exactly," his dad said, putting an arm around his shoulders. "You did a really great thing tonight, and you've done enough. Go home and get some rest. Put some ice on that leg."

Peeta's shoulders drooped, and he sighed. "You sure?"

He patted Peeta's back. "If I don't get around to it, I'll make Rye do it when he comes in."

Peeta laughed. "Thanks." He washed his hands and threw his dirty apron into the washing machine. "I'll see you in a few hours."

"If you show your face around here before one o'clock, I'll send you straight home again, you hear?"

Peeta laughed and shook his head. "'Night, Dad."

His dad smiled and waved from the sink. "Sweet dreams, son."

* * *

Peeta fell asleep easily but slept restlessly. His ankle really was bothering him, and he got up after an hour to fetch an ice pack. After that, he had a few nightmares of various ways he might accidentally destroy Katniss's cake before the party. In one version, he was attacked by an enormous flock of mockingbirds as he was transporting the cake to the van. In another, the cake didn't even make it out of the kitchen because his hands and feet had been turned into clumsy rubber hammers, and he couldn't move or touch anything without destroying it. In one of the later ones, the cake actually made it to the party, but when they cut it, bees poured out and stung all the guests.

What all the dreams had in common, besides his general fear of failure, was Katniss—the look of disappointment or disgust he imagined in her eyes when he inevitably let her down.

Tired of the pattern, Peeta got up and ate a bowl of cereal. Rye had already left for the bakery, so he had the house to himself. He lay on the living room couch with his ankle elevated and thought back over the events of the previous night. In the cold light of morning, some of his actions seemed questionable at best. He wondered how awkward it would be when he saw Katniss again at the party. She'd run off so quickly that he was sure she must regret letting him kiss her. He honestly didn't know what had come over him. He resolved to apologize and blame it on exhaustion. He scrubbed a hand over his face and closed his eyes.

He drifted off into a fitful but less troubled sleep.

* * *

"Geez, Peet," Rye said when Peeta limped into the bakery that afternoon.

Peeta had slept another hour or two and then got up to shower. His ankle was even stiffer and more painful than it had been during the night, so he'd had to put his brace on and wrap it up to keep the swelling down.

Rye was looking at him now and shaking his head. "I can't believe you didn't tell me it was a cake emergency for _that cake_."

It was true: after Katniss had run out for supplies, he'd called and told his brother that he'd gotten a call about a last minute cake emergency and that he'd be working late. He hadn't told him anything else.

Peeta shrugged apologetically. "I figured you'd try to talk me out of it."

"Shouldn't I have?" Rye said, roughly kneading shortcrust dough on the counter. "Last I knew, the girl you've been in love with since you were six—who's been _flirting with you_ for the past several weeks—sent her boyfriend in to retrieve a cake she was too cowardly to pick up herself. She didn't deserve your help, and she doesn't deserve _you_." He punched the dough with his fist and looked up at Peeta. "There, I said it."

Stupidly, the first thing that came out of Peeta's mouth was, "You really think she was flirting with me this whole time?"

Rye shook his head in disbelief. "Sure, focus on that."

Peeta stepped to his brother's side and rescued the pastry dough. He kneaded it gently and then began to roll it out. "You know dad's rule: don't bake angry. It makes everything taste bad."

Rye sighed and rubbed his forehead with his sleeve. "If you'd just told me—sure, I wouldn't have been happy about it, but if you'd insisted on remaking the cake, I would have come and helped you. You shouldn't have had to do it alone."

Peeta smiled. "I wasn't alone. She stayed with me—the whole time."

Rye's eyebrows shot up. "Dad didn't mention that."

"It meant so much to her, this cake. She helped me—even went and foraged wild lavender in the dark in the middle of the rainstorm so I could remake that top tier."

"Surprised she didn't just send her boyfriend," Rye muttered.

Peeta tried to keep the smile off his face, but he couldn't. "He's not her boyfriend."

Rye leaned against the counter. "Come again?"

"They're close friends and have been for a lot of years—brought together by mutual hardship, you know? That's why they seem like they're together," Peeta explained. "That, and Gale really wants it to happen and already plays the part of the jealous and overprotective boyfriend. But Katniss isn't interested. He asked her out yesterday, before the cake accident, and she turned him down. She told me last night while we were baking."

Rye frowned, then sighed, then decidedly clamped his mouth shut.

Peeta rolled the pastry out into the tin. "What?"

Rye shook his head.

"No, I want to know," Peeta insisted.

Rye sighed again. "Don't be offended, okay?"

"Yeah, that's always a good way to start a conversation."

"There's no nice way to say it, and you said you wanted to hear," Rye pleaded. He huffed out a breath. "Are you sure she isn't just using you?"

Peeta froze. "For cake?"

"You know what I mean," Rye insisted. "She's taken advantage of you, no doubt about it, Peet. No one who wasn't carrying a torch for her would have been willing to remake a cake like that in one night. She knows you like her, and you're basically putty in her hands."

"That's absurd," Peeta said, but the thought had pinched him in a vulnerable spot. "It's not like she asked and I said yes and then she left. She stayed the whole night."

Rye didn't say anything.

"We talked a lot last night—and over the last few weeks. Do you think she was lying to me this whole time?"

"I think she _could_ have been leading you on in order to get something she needed from you—counting on your good nature and kindness to get something she wanted."

Peeta pushed the pastry tin over to his brother. "You don't know her at all."

Rye shrugged. "You asked. And you're right—I don't know her. All I've got is an outsider's view, but I wouldn't say that's worth nothing."

Rye began to whip up a quiche filling, but Peeta noticed his brother keeping an eye on him while he went about his work.

After their parents divorced, the three Mellark brothers had all dealt with the fallout differently. Miche, the eldest, had decided avoidance was safest. He'd had his suspicions about their mother's treatment of Peeta, but he had never looked for proof, never asked questions. When it was impossible to ignore what she'd done, Miche had taken the guilt he felt and had run. As soon as he finished high school, he moved out of state for college and never came back except for the occasional holiday. He always sent Peeta a generous check on his birthday, though, without fail. Peeta had dabbled in avoidance, too, early on, but after that he poured himself into work—school, art, baking, and eventually wrestling after a year or two of physical therapy. He knew his father and brothers loved him, and he knew what happened wasn't their fault, but for some time he'd felt an awful guilt that he was the one who had caused their family to be torn apart, caused Miche to move away and caused their father's hair to go gray and his eyes to have that now-permanent downward cast. If he hadn't existed—or if he'd at least been better at not making her angry—maybe they could have been happy together.

It was Rye who had showed him this wasn't true. Rye became the mother hen of the family, looking after their father and watching over Peeta with the kind of overprotection that would rival a mama bear. He'd been occupied with his own concerns as a young teen and hadn't noticed Peeta's bruises or the way he flinched at the sound of raised voices. He'd only noticed that Peeta went above and beyond whatever he was asked to do because he was so desperate to please. And Rye had used this to his advantage, getting him to take on extra chores or tasks when Rye wanted to go out with his friends. Rye had raged for a while after Peeta's hospitalization, but when he'd calmed down, he set to work trying to right several years' worth of wrongs. He stopped hanging out with his friends outside of school, he threatened school kids who'd mocked Peeta for his limp that first year, and he'd told Peeta over and over again, until he finally accepted it, that none of what had happened was his fault, that people made their own choices to harm or to help, and that Peeta was valued and safe.

Peeta clung to his brother those first few years, but as he got older, he realized how unfair it was that Rye wasn't really living his own life. When they'd faced off in the wrestling ring during Rye's senior season, Peeta gratefully handed him the victory in the hopes of giving Rye something to own for himself, but the plan backfired horribly. Rye had seen through it and been angry. He gave him an hour's lecture that night about people-pleasing, and then, without telling his father, he deferred his acceptance to the state university to take a gap year. When he finally told his family what he'd done, it was too late to change his status and reaccept. He insisted that he wanted to stay home and work full-time at the bakery for a year, save up some money for tuition, but Peeta knew it was really because his brother was worried about him. When the gap year was up, Rye stayed at the bakery.

Rye loved science, and his talents were practically wasted on cakes and pastries and bread, which was why Peeta had gone to community college. He'd hoped to show his brother that he was capable and successful and safe in the world without his protection, that Rye could go out and do anything he wanted. But by the time Peeta had graduated with his A.A. in Business, Rye had nothing to show for it but a set of well-muscled biceps and a measly collection of broken relationships. When Peeta had decided to move out of his dad's house, Rye informed Peeta that he was going with him.

"Rent is stupid high around here," he'd argued. "It's less stupid if we go in together."

Peeta hadn't had the heart to disagree.

So when his brother now told him that he was worried the girl of his dreams was taking advantage of him, Peeta knew it was the mother hen talking and not spite or jealousy. And it rankled him, because Rye had often been right about this kind of thing in the past.

When Rye slid the quiche into the oven, he turned back to Peeta with a sigh. "You're doing the sad puppy thing again, man. Look: I know I suck at relationships, so I obviously don't know much about this kind of thing. But I really don't want to see you get hurt. You've got a lot more to offer than your baking skills and your willingness to help people, and I hope she can see that."

Peeta nodded mutely, trying to puzzle out exactly what he was feeling. He made his way out to the front counter to relieve his dad for the afternoon shift and pulled a stool up so he could sit and rest.

He helped a few customers, and then he was left to his own thoughts.

It wasn't that he distrusted Katniss. He just wondered whether he'd ruined their chances at friendship by kissing her. And he realized that if he had made her uncomfortable, it was possible he'd never see her again after he went to deliver the cake that night, and the thought left him spiraling.

 _Did_ she know that he liked her? He hoped she knew that he wasn't the type to kiss a girl he didn't like. But their friendship was so new, so delicate—he really didn't want to ruin it. Would it be better if she didn't know? Maybe she'd write the kiss off as a silly, fatigue-born expression of gratitude. He almost wished he'd had the excuse of being drunk.

But either way, he'd made himself vulnerable. And wasn't that what he'd been arguing that love was about? About giving without the expectation of return? It was a philosophy that was much easier in practice when you knew where you stood with the other person, he realized. You could love selflessly and not get anything back, and he'd had a lot of practice with that. You could love well and receive the fruit of it back and find nourishment in it. But this giving without knowing—it was like stepping blindfolded onto a busy highway and hoping the drivers had the good sense not to hit you.

Terror. That was the feeling he was feeling. He had not the slightest inkling of what to expect at the party, and it left him a little nauseated and breathless.

When five o'clock finally rolled around, Peeta wiped down the counters, almost reluctant to leave. He thought of Schrödinger's cat, and how at least while he was in this state of limbo, there was still the possibility that Katniss liked him back. He dreaded and anticipated the moment of knowing.

Rye came out to the front to turn the sign and lock the door. "So where's this party at?"

"Gale's house," Peeta said. "Out by Pine and Sixth."

Rye cocked an eyebrow at him.

"I told you, it's not like that," Peeta said.

Rye held up his hands and nodded. "What time does it start?"

"Seven." Peeta scrubbed at a permanent stain on the counter, not because he thought it would help, but because it gave him something to do.

Rye pulled the rag and disinfectant bottle from Peeta's hands. "You should go home and get ready."

Peeta looked down at his flour-dusted clothes. "I've got an hour. I can stay and help you prep for tomorrow."

"Dad stayed late and already did the prep. He said we could close early tonight, and I already cleaned the kitchen.

"Oh," Peeta said helplessly. "Okay." He took off his apron.

Rye took that from him, too, and handed him his car keys. "I'll put the cake in the van and drive it to the apartment. One less thing to worry about."

"Thanks," Peeta said. He rubbed his hands together.

"Now or never, Peet," Rye said, motioning back to the kitchen and the back door.

"Right. _Right_. Thanks, man."

* * *

Peeta took another shower to dust himself off a little, and then he stood staring at his closet for twenty minutes. Button-up, definitely. But which one? White would be classic. He put it on and then took it off again. It made him look like he was trying too hard. Then he wondered if it was a problem with the pants. He took off his black dress pants and stood in the middle of his room in only his boxers, staring at his closet again. That was how Rye found him ten minutes later.

"Jeans, dude," Rye said, frowning in concern. "And a shirt you actually _like_."

Peeta threw on his jeans and then stared at his closet again.

"Don't think. Just go," Rye said from the door.

Peeta grabbed his trusty blue linen button-up, the one that matched his eyes.

When he finished buttoning it, he turned to his brother. "It's too informal."

"You're not the guest of honor. No one will care. _Shoes_. Or you're going to be late."

Peeta grabbed his chukkas and a pair of socks and headed toward the front door. "Where are the keys?" He asked when they weren't on the peg.

"In my hand," Rye said. "I'm driving."

Peeta leveled him with a stare. "I can do this by myself."

"Absolutely, under normal circumstances," he said. "But you were up all night, and you're wearing a god-damned brace on your leg. Do you _want_ to risk that cake, or would you prefer to swallow your pride a little and let me help?"

Peeta sighed and opened the front door, motioning his brother through.

They drove slowly and carefully across town, taking twice as long as the distance would normally require. Peeta knew that Rye was being overly cautious, but he was grateful that he didn't need to worry. Still, when they pulled up to the house, Peeta got out and opened the back door to check on the cake.

"Still good?" Rye asked.

"It's perfect," Peeta said, with a nervous grin. He took out his phone and checked the time. They were twenty minutes early. He called Katniss.

"Hello?" she said.

"Hey, we're here. Do you want us to bring it inside or around back?"

"Oh, um, around back, I guess. I'll meet you back there."

"Great. See you in a sec," he said. He hung up and shoved his phone back in his pocket before reaching for the cake.

Rye gently nudged him out of the way and picked up the cake. "If you trip now, you'll never forgive yourself. Lead the way."

Peeta went to the side gate and opened it for his brother. It was still plenty light outside, but Gale's family had strung up white lights in the trees and across to the porch. It looked really beautiful, and the rain from the night before had left the grass a little greener and the air a little cooler.

Katniss appeared at the sliding door and greeted them with a nervous smile and a wave. "Hi."

"Hi," Peeta said. "You remember Rye?"

"Hi," she said to Rye.

Rye grunted.

"You can put the cake on the table over there," she said. "Thank you so much for bringing it."

"No trouble," Rye said, taking the cake to the table.

Katniss turned to Peeta. "You brought your brother?"

"He brought me, actually," he said. "He wanted to make sure the cake got here safely."

"That was nice of him," she said. Then she leaned over and whispered, "Johanna's coming tonight."

Peeta felt a slow smile grow on his face. "Wouldn't that be something," he said.

Katniss smiled slyly. She looked beautiful as ever, but tired. She was dressed in her black shorts and a black t-shirt, but she was barefoot. Her hair was in its usual braid, but pieces of it were escaping.

"I feel a little overdressed," Peeta admitted. "I wasn't sure what to wear."

"You look perfect," she said, and then blushed. She pulled at her shirt. "I'm still planning to change," she said. "I've just been trying to finish up with the food."

"Anything we can help with?" Peeta asked. "Rye and I both know our way around a kitchen."

Katniss shook her head. "You've done way too much already."

"But we're friends, right?" he asked. He tried to keep the tinge of nervousness out of his tone.

Her smile drooped a little. "Right."

"So put us to work," Peeta said with a genial smile.

"Okay," she conceded, and she led them inside to the small galley kitchen. It was hot in there, but it smelled good.

"Should be about fifteen minutes left on the hors d'oeuvres—but they're just frozen stuff, nothing special. I tried to do something a little fancier and make bacon-wrapped dates, but they don't look appetizing at all." She motioned to the baking tray on the counter. It looked like the bacon had slipped and was wrapped unevenly. "I figured it'd be impossible to screw up wrapping a piece of bacon around a piece of dried fruit, but then it's me we're talking about. Maybe they'll look better when I bake them."

"Oh, that's an easy fix," Rye said, and he began re-wrapping them.

"They'll need to go in for twenty minutes after that," she told him, and he nodded.

"What can I do?" Peeta asked.

"Can you mix the punch?" she asked. "You always know how to make even something basic like water or iced tea into something special, and I don't really know what I'm doing. I grabbed some herbs from my mom's garden, though." She handed him a bag full of fresh herbs. "So far it's just strawberry lemonade.

Peeta peered into the bag. "Mint, sage, basil, verbena, rosemary, thyme—what's this one?"

"Chocolate mint. Sorry, I brought a little of everything since I wasn't sure what would go."

"That's great," he said. "Do you want me to do some infused water, too?"

She smiled. "I hadn't even thought of that."

"Just point me to a pitcher," he said.

She brought him two pitchers filled with ice and water.

"Do you have leftover fruit? Or cucumber, maybe?"

"I made up a veggie tray, and there's some cucumber leftover," she said, going to the fridge to retrieve it. "Oh, and there's some melon leftover from the fruit platter."

"Bring that too," Peeta said, and he went to work.

When Rye finished with the dates, he popped them in the oven. Katniss put him in charge of the bruschetta she'd started on.

"And that should be the last of it," she said, washing her hands.

"Then I think we've got it well under control," Peeta said. "You should get changed."

"Thank you, Peeta, Rye," she said, and then she disappeared into a room down the hall.

"I didn't exactly sign up for this," Rye said when she was out of earshot.

"You were the one who insisted on coming. And besides, there might be something in it for you," Peeta hinted.

"You volunteering to take a closing shift for me?"

"Please. There's a girl who's going to be here tonight, and she's kind of been into you since high school."

Rye mulled this over. "Is she cute?"

"Wouldn't know. Haven't seen her in a few years."

Rye raised an eyebrow in a show of skepticism, but he didn't say anything.

A few minutes later, Peeta had a sparkling strawberry lemonade and chocolate mint punch, a pitcher of cucumber water with lemon verbena, and a pitcher of cantaloupe-infused water with mint. And they all tasted pretty damn good if he said so himself. Rye pulled the hors d'oeuvres from the oven and put in the dates and the baguette slices for the bruschetta.

Hearing the oven timer, Katniss came out to check their progress. She was wearing a soft chiffon dress that fitted closely through the torso and then flowed to her knees, but the _color_ —it began with a soft orange at the top, then faded into a warm pink, and then ended in a fiery, sunset red near her knees. Peeta couldn't imagine anything more beautiful or more perfect. It was like sunlight glowing against her skin, and it brought out the cool beauty of her eyes.

"Everything okay out here?" she asked, running her fingers through her hair. It was loose and wavy about her shoulders.

"Yeah, we're just about done," Peeta said. "Do you want us to start setting this up out on the porch?"

"Oh, that'd be perfect," she said. "I still have to fix my hair."

"Your hair looks perfect," Peeta said, a certain tightness constricting his throat. He tried to clear it. "I mean, you should leave it like that. It's really pretty."

Katniss blushed, and self-consciously ran her fingers through it again. "Okay," she said. "Then I'll just get my shoes and come help."

She returned a minute later wearing soft, gray satin flats that seemed to shimmer a little in the light. Peeta was reminded of the gentle iridescence of mother of pearl. She shyly helped them arrange the food at the table.

By then, guests had started to arrive, and Rye volunteered to go move the van out of the driveway so as not to spoil the surprise.

Peeta decided to make himself useful by monitoring the oven.

"Well," someone said behind him, making him jump.

He turned and met Gale eye to eye. He had a big bag of ice hoisted on his shoulder.

"Hi," Peeta said. Gale didn't respond—he just looked him up and down.

"I'm, uh, just watching the oven for the last few hors d'oeuvres," Peeta explained.

Gale brushed past him and put the ice away in the freezer before grabbing a beer from the fridge and walking quickly out to the porch.

Hints of a tense, whispered conversation floated over to him through the open slider, and Peeta turned on the faucet and washed his hands to drown out the sound of it.

A minute later, Katniss appeared in the kitchen. She leaned against the counter and sighed.

"You okay?" Peeta asked. He turned the faucet off and dried his hands.

"Gale's being difficult about last night. He's mad at me."

"Good timing," Peeta said.

"I know, right?" she answered.

The timer went off, and Peeta took the bread and dates from the oven. Katniss helped him plate them.

"Is he mad because you turned him down or mad because you stayed to help me?" Peeta asked gently.

She huffed out a breath. "Both."

Peeta bit his lip. "I'm sorry."

She shrugged.

He took a breath, readying himself to break the ice about the night before, about the kiss—but Katniss's phone buzzed on the counter.

She quickly typed and sent a text, and then glanced up at him. "Five-minute warning."

Peeta smiled. "Oh, great!"

Katniss's attempt to return the smile was weak.

"Hey, you've got nothing to worry about," Peeta said, reaching out and squeezing her arm gently. "She's going to love it."

Katniss nodded and took a deep breath before heading outside, and Peeta followed her with the last two plates of food.

The crowd had grown significantly since Peeta had last checked, and Katniss struggled to get their attention. It was Johanna Mason who came to the rescue.

" _Pipe down, assholes_!" Johanna yelled from the porch. Her hair was short and spiky and tipped with lime green, and she had a whole row of piercings up one ear, and a piercing each in her eyebrow and nose. She looked much the same as she did in high school, only—if possible—wilder. She wore ripped black jeans, a strategically torn black shirt, and a smirk that dared anyone to judge her for it.

"Um, thanks Jo. So listen up!" Katniss said to the crowd. "Rory texted, and they'll be here in less than five minutes, so I'm going to need radio silence, okay? There's streamers and confetti in the bucket that Vick is holding, so grab something before I turn out the lights, okay?"

People clapped and hollered in excitement.

"Keep it down, though!" she shouted. "Three-minute warning!"

People began moving to get into position, and Katniss went to man the lights.

"Someone else should do that," Peeta said. "You should be out at the front so you can see Prim when she walks in."

"No, it's okay," she protested.

Rye stepped in then. "I got it covered," he said. "Peeta, you go down with her to the front and put your hand up or something when the lights should go on. You're taller than her, so I'll be able to see you better."

"Thank you," Katniss said.

Hands on her shoulders, Peeta helped Katniss push through the waiting crowd, who were pressed close near the gate. They found a spot right at the front, and Peeta craned his neck around to make sure he could still see his brother on the porch, and he nodded his head back when Rye waved at him. People whispered excitedly and shushed each other until Katniss's phone buzzed again, and she raised her hand to silence them.

Everyone went still—it felt like they were all holding their breath.

Voices carried up the path, and Peeta felt Katniss grab his hand and squeeze it tight.

"…I know you were really hoping for something fancier," Rory was saying, "but I thought a picnic could be nice, too."

"Oh," Prim said, with just a hint of disappointment. "I do love picnics. That's really sweet of you to plan something like this."

"I thought it'd be nice, just the two of us," he said.

They heard the gate latch click and the door start to swing open.

Peeta waved his hand in the air, and the lights came on a moment later.

" _Surprise_!" they all yelled. They whooped and cheered and threw confetti at a shocked and delighted Prim.

She laughed delightedly, shaking confetti from her skirt, and she threw her arms around Rory and buried her face in his chest.

He leaned down and whispered something in her ear, and her head snapped up, her eyes searching the crowd. They landed on Katniss, and then Prim pushed her way over to her and threw her arms around her sister's neck and kissed her on the cheek. Katniss squeezed her tight and brushed loose confetti from her hair before letting her go, her smile spreading from cheek to cheek. Peeta had never seen her happier—she was radiant.

Prim made her way through the crowd, hugging and laughing with everyone she passed, and Katniss leaned against the wall and watched. Peeta joined her.

"You were right," he said. "About the romneya. It's a perfect fit."

She grinned at him and then threw her arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. He felt her lips on his cheek, and then she drew away. " _Thank you_ ," she said, releasing him. Then she disappeared into the crowd.

Peeta leaned against the wall again and waited for the heat in his cheeks and the giddy feeling in his chest to subside.

He looked around at the crowd milling happily in the yard, but his attention caught on Gale Hawthorne—he was the only one not smiling. In fact, he was nursing his beer and staring stonily back at Peeta.

Peeta pushed off from the wall and went in search of his brother on the porch.

Rye stood stiffly with his back to the wall, guarding a plate of hors d'oeuvres. Peeta snatched a bacon-wrapped date and popped it into his mouth.

When Rye didn't protest, Peeta looked at him more closely. "What's wrong?"

Rye glanced around before leaning over to Peeta. "Someone slapped my butt while the lights were out."

Peeta laughed and almost spit out his food.

"It's not funny," Rye said. "I don't know anyone here, and they're all practically babies, anyway."

Peeta laughed again and shook his head. He peered out over the crowd until he spotted neon green hair. "Come on," he told Rye. "Let me introduce you to someone."


	8. Chapter 8

Johanna Mason had Rye Mellark practically cornered like prey, and Peeta found the whole thing endlessly entertaining. Rye's eyes kept darting nervously around—at her hair, her black boots, her piercings, the grass, the lights—as Johanna talked and laughed and joked and generally kept the whole conversation going on her own steam.

It was clear that Rye was out of practice, but Peeta hadn't thought he would be this bad. Johanna, somehow, didn't seem to mind.

"So then you guys just ran away?" Peeta asked her, laughing in disbelief.

"Hell no!" she said. "We hid in the bushes and watched those dicks try to navigate the lawn like they were avoiding land mines. Then Annie let the sprinklers rip, and it scared them so bad they started scrambling and falling all over the place. Cato and Marvel had dog shit in their eyes and up their noses, and to this day, I swear to you, it's the most beautiful sight I've ever seen." She grinned malevolently.

Peeta glanced at his brother, whose mouth was hanging open a bit.

Peeta shook his head and gave her his congenial, social smile. "I gotta hand it to you, Mason—you've got guts."

She waved this off. "They had it coming."

"No," Peeta protested. "I wrestled Cato once in practice I think when I was a sophomore, and he took me out in under ten seconds. Rye could beat him, but I didn't know anyone else who could."

"Is that so?" she asked. Johanna's eyes traveled over Rye in slow appreciation, while Rye decided his shoe was the safest place to look. She shook the ice around in her cup. "Hey, I'm going to get some more to drink. You guys need refills?"

"I'm good," Peeta said.

When Rye didn't answer, Johanna leaned over to him and tipped his drink in his hand, spilling the contents out onto the grass. "Oops," she said, taking his cup from him. "Let me get you a new one." She batted her eyes at him and gave him a coy smile before walking off toward the porch.

Peeta glanced at Rye and smiled teasingly.

Rye shook his head, shell-shocked. "Holy hell."

Peeta laughed. "Good holy hell, or bad?"

Rye ducked his head toward Peeta. "Are you sure she isn't an axe murderer?"

"She likes you," Peeta said.

"Holy hell," Rye said again, scrubbing at the back of his neck.

Peeta took this as a good sign.

When Rye took a sip of the drink Johanna brought him, he almost spat it back out. Instead, he choked and coughed and swallowed, and then—

"Shit," he said, wiping his mouth. He looked around the yard, and then to Johanna. "Someone spiked the punch."

Johanna shrugged and smirked. "Well it wasn't going to spike itself."

Rye's mouth gaped open. "These are underaged _kids_."

Johanna crossed her arms. "Who are way too goody-two-shoes to do it themselves. Prim's friends need to lighten up a little. I'm _helping_."

Peeta took Rye's drink from him and took a sip. His mouth burned, and he frowned. "Woah, how much did you put in?"

Johanna shrugged again. "Enough."

Peeta handed the cup back to Rye. "I'll fix it," he said, and then turned to head back up to the porch.

"Baby Mellark to the rescue," Johanna called after him.

Peeta didn't respond.

When Peeta made it to the drinks table, he scooped up the punch bowl away from some giggling teens. "Refill time," he said, and he took it into the kitchen.

Katniss was in there, refilling a bowl of chips.

"Hey, I hate to break it to you, but, um, the punch has been spiked?" he said as he set the large bowl down on the counter. " _Really_ spiked."

Katniss's eyes went wide. She grabbed a glass from a nearby cupboard and ladled some in. She took a sip, and it made her squeeze her eyes shut. " _Shit_."

"I know, it's really strong," he said.

"Oh, yeah," she said. "Johanna's work, no doubt. But I meant shit as in _shit, I just refilled that bowl five minutes ago, and it's already two-thirds gone_." She glanced out the window at the sea of high schoolers before nervously meeting Peeta's eyes. "And these kids are _lightweights_."

Peeta dumped the contents of the bowl into the sink. "Got any more punch?"

"Mix is in the freezer," she said absently, scanning the crowd outside. "I need to find Johanna and confiscate whatever booze she has left."

"Back left corner of the yard," Peeta supplied. "By the fence."

She squeezed his arm in thanks as she moved past him to the door.

Peeta made up the punch and brought it back out. It was less magnificent than it had been, but there was nothing he could do about it.

He noticed that the water pitchers were both nearly empty now, too, so he took them inside for a refill. That was when he noticed the odd smell. He dipped his finger into one of the pitchers and tasted it—it tasted strongly of cheap, flavored vodka.

Peeta shook his head and dumped and rinsed both pitchers.

Katniss came back in as he was slicing up new fruit and herbs to add to the pitchers. She bore two bottles of white rum, one empty and one half-full, and her face was a little red with anger.

Peeta eyed the bottles. "Watermelon vodka," he said. "In the water."

Katniss turned on her heel and went back outside, presumably to yell at Johanna some more.

Someone outside cranked up the music louder, and people started dancing on the lawn. Peeta wondered what the protocol was when you had fifty tipsy teens on your hands. Water was certainly first. And probably more food.

As he set the pitchers out on the porch again, he spotted two boys attempting to sneakily lift the lid on the cake box.

"Hey!" he called to them, and they flinched and turned toward him. "We've got chips and pretzels over here if you're hungry."

Guiltily, they went to the table for more snacks, muttering their thanks. Peeta took up watch over the cake table. He'd be damned if he let anything happen to that cake before Prim got to see it and enjoy it. Katniss stomped up the stairs a few moments later, reached behind a large, potted aloe plant, and retrieved the remains of the bottle of watermelon vodka.

"She swears this is the last of it," she said, shaking her head.

"Let's hope," he said. "Also, is there any way we could do the cake sooner rather than later? I had to shoo some of them away from it just now."

"Christ," she said. "I can't believe I thought I could handle this. I forgot that there's a direct correlation between the number of teens you get together and the likelihood they'll end up plastered."

"Not your fault," he said. "And you're doing fine." He tried to give her an encouraging smile.

She tried to reflect it back to him, but only managed to lift one side of her mouth.

"Hey, do you have candles or something for the cake?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'll grab them and take care of _this_." She lifted the bottle in her hand. "You don't happen to know where Prim is at the moment, do you?"

Peeta peered out over the crowd and spotted her. Rory had her backed against the back wall, and they seemed to be in the middle of a make-out session.

Peeta cleared his throat. "Um, yeah, she's over by the wall… with Rory. They're, uh, together."

Katniss followed his gaze, and then took a deep breath. She glanced back at Peeta, who gave her an apologetic shrug.

Her eyes flashed silver. Suddenly, she pulled the stopper out of the vodka bottle and took a swig.

Peeta's eyes went wide.

She wiped her mouth and offered him the bottle.

Laughing, he took it and took a swig of his own. He couldn't help the grimace on his face that resulted. "No one should drink that," he said, handing it back to her.

"Desperate times," she said as she shoved the stopper back in. "And at least I'm not drinking it alone."

She brought him the candles and a box of matches before disappearing into the crowd to extricate her sister.

Peeta carefully lifted the lid of the cake box and checked the cake—still intact, thank God. He went about artfully arranging the tall, skinny candles along each tier among the flowers.

When he finished, Katniss was back at his side, surveying his work.

"I really can't thank you enough for this," she said.

Peeta smiled shyly. "I'm really glad you like it. And I'm glad I could help."

"You're a really good person, Peeta Mellark." She said it quietly, and she kept her eyes on the cake as she said it.

Peeta felt his face heat uncomfortably. What was a person supposed to say to something like that? _No, I'm really not? Thank you? No you are?_ So he settled for self-deprecating. "Or at the very least, a good baker, I hope."

"I think you're both," she said. She glanced up at him then, and she gave him a little smile.

Peeta thought it might be his favorite one yet.

"When do you want to light these?" he asked.

"Go ahead and get started, and I'll round everyone up," she said. "I gave Prim a three-minute warning."

Peeta nodded and went to work. As he was finishing, the music cut out, and he heard the noise of people beginning to gather around. He stood to one side, and he watched Kantiss and Prim approach. Katniss guided her sister by the hand as Rory covered her eyes from behind.

"Okay, everyone, ready?" she asked. "One, two, three!"

And the chorus of "Happy Birthday" began. Rory moved his hands away, and Prim's mouth dropped open in awe and delight. She clasped her hands together and bounced up on her toes, swaying a little and laughing as the singing drew to a close. Peeta wondered how much she'd had to drink.

She stepped up to the cake, giggling, and then she blew out the candles all in one breath. A loud cheer went up, and she turned to everyone, smiling and laughing.

Katniss waved an arm in the air. "Listen up!" she called out, and they all got quieter. "This cake is amazing and fancy and delicious, and you're all going to have a piece because it's good, but also because _I know what you've been drinking_ , okay? Everyone gets cake and a large cup of water, and no one gets to leave for _at least two hours_."

Muttering went up around them.

"We'll play some games or something," she said. "No arguments, and no exceptions."

" _Hard-ass_!" someone yelled from the back of the crowd. Peeta was ninety-five percent certain it was Johanna.

"If you're going to be stupid, at least be stupid and safe," Katniss said. "Now everyone have some cake, okay? It's the best cake ever, I swear."

Peeta stepped up then and took charge of cake cutting. He served Prim first, giving her slices of all three tiers complete with a full chocolate romneya blossom all her own, and he explained each slice to her.

"Let me know which one's your favorite," he said with a smile. "Katniss and I put a lot of work into picking them out."

"M-something," she said.

"Sorry?" he asked.

She giggled. "M-something. This is from the bakery in town, right?"

"Oh, yeah," he said. "Mellark's."

" _Mellarks's_ ," she said, nodding. "They make the most beautiful cakes."

He smiled. "And they taste good, too."

"I've never had one before," she said, her eyes wide.

"Well now's your chance," he said.

"I always wanted their sugar cookies as a kid. The ones with the fancy icing with the flowers?"

He nodded. "You should stop by the shop sometime with your sister. My treat."

She frowned, her eyes a glassy blue. "Are you friends with Katniss?"

Peeta smiled. "Yeah, we're friends."

"How unusual," she said, taking a sip of her drink.

"Prim!" Katniss called from the drinks table. "Water. Come on."

"Bye, Katniss's friend," Prim said, allowing Rory to guide her away.

"Happy Birthday, Prim," Peeta said, waving after her.

* * *

Rye stared down into the swirling pink of the booze bucket. "That has _got_ to be toxic," he said.

Katniss had made everyone dump their drinks and trade them for new ones, and this was the result. She was leaning now against the wall, rubbing her temples. "I just need someone to dump it down the toilet or something," she said. "It's too heavy for me."

Peeta stepped forward to give it a try, but he was beaten to it by Gale, who'd appeared suddenly and silently. He hefted the bucket without trouble, giving Peeta a look, and then wordlessly carried it inside.

Katniss closed her eyes and rubbed her temples harder. "Jo?" she asked.

"Captain Hard-ass?" Jo replied.

"You're in charge of games for now, okay? Get something going. I need some aspirin and a break."

"Aye, Captain," Johanna said, a glint in her eye.

"Rye?" Katniss asked.

"Yeah?"

"Would you please keep an eye on Jo and make sure she doesn't get the kids all doing something that I or they will all regret?"

Rye smirked. "I'll do my best."

Johanna's eyes seemed to light up with the prospect of a challenge.

"Thanks," she said. She opened her eyes slowly and winced. She nodded once in dismissal, and then she went inside.

Peeta followed her a moment later. He found her on the living room couch, her head leaned back and her feet propped up on the coffee table.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey," she said, without opening her eyes.

"I brought you some cake, if you want."

Her eyebrows stretched up. "I thought it was all gone."

"I saved a piece for you," he said. "From the top tier."

Her lips twitched up a bit, and she opened her eyes, her expression weary and worn. She accepted the plate from him and took a bite. Her eyes closed again, but this time because she was savoring the sensation. She patted the seat next to her, and Peeta softly sat down. She took another bite and then handed him the fork.

"I think this might be even better than the first version," she said.

Peeta speared a small piece for himself and tasted it. It was smoother, more fully blended even, and still exceptionally well-balanced. He laughed lightly. "Happy mistake, I guess."

She took the fork back from him and took another bite.

"Anything more I can do?" he asked.

"You've done plenty. Way more than you should have had to do. Thank you."

"Oh, no," he said. "I don't mind. And I meant is there anything else I can do to help _you_."

She leaned her head back and took a deep breath. "Do you think you could make me some tea? Caffeinated, if possible. I have a feeling it's going to be another long night."

"I'll see what I can do," he said.

In the kitchen, Peeta found the kettle, filled it, and put it on the stove to heat. It took him a minute or two to find a few boxes of tea in the pantry, but he did find some Irish Breakfast, and a short exploration of the cabinets turned up a suitable mug. He was pouring the tea when a voice behind him startled him.

"This is my kitchen, you know."

Peeta turned to face Gale.

"Katniss asked if I would make her some tea," Peeta explained, setting the kettle back down on the stove.

"How domestic of you," Gale said flatly. "And how kind. Do you just do anything she asks?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Peeta said with a frown.

Gale crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame. "Sit, roll over, bake me a cake as fast as you can—it's like your goal is to be her very own wish-granting genie. Even when you're in someone else's house."

Peeta ducked his head. "I'm sorry—you're right. This is your house, and we should have asked first. Katniss has a headache and asked for some tea."

Gale shrugged one shoulder. "Katniss is welcome to anything in this house—she knows that. That's not the problem."

Peeta eyed him warily, but he spoke softly. "I'm not looking for a fight, Gale. I'm here to support Katniss and Prim."

"If that's what you want to call it," Gale said icily.

Peeta only shook his head. "Katniss makes her own decisions."

"She does, doesn't she," Gale said. He picked up the mug of tea and headed toward the living room.

Peeta sighed. He threw away the tea bag wrapper and went back outside.

Jo and Rye seemed to have successfully started a loud game that was part truth-or-dare and part obstacle course. Whatever it was, it seemed to be keeping everyone entertained and out of trouble. There were a few groups that weren't in on the game, but they were all talking, or making out, or slow dancing in various corners of the yard. It seemed like everything was under control. He leaned against the porch railing to watch them all, and then he sighed again and looked up at the dim stars.

"Hey," said a voice beside him.

He turned. "Hi, Prim," he said with a smile.

"Did you _make_ that cake?" Prim asked, her eyes a little unfocused.

Peeta cleared his throat and straightened up. "Yeah, I did. Was it okay?"

Prim frowned. "It was delicious."

"I'm glad to hear it," he said.

"The lavender one," she said, and then she seemed to think better of it. She shook her head. "I really liked the lemon and the strawberry. All three were delicious, but I can't choose a favorite between the lemon and the strawberry."

"I thought you'd probably like them, based on what Katniss said about you."

She was still frowning, staring at him curiously. "You were right."

He shrugged. " _Katniss_ was right. She knows you really well, and she really wanted to do something special for you."

This brought a small smile to Prim's face, eased the frown away a little. She shook her head gently and lowered her voice. "It was too much, but I really loved it. I've always wanted a cake like that. I don't know how she knew."

Peeta smiled, widely and genuinely. "She knows you, and she loves you." He laughed softly. "You should ask her later what we went through to get this cake here tonight. Quite the story."

Prim eyed him curiously. "Thanks, I will," she said. She frowned again.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

She shook her head. "It seems excessive to make something that beautiful only to see it vanish in under half an hour."

Peeta nodded his head thoughtfully. "Come by the bakery sometime later this week," he said.

"For sugar cookies?" she said.

"Yeah, and maybe something else." When she frowned deeper, he added, "It's a surprise," and gave her a wink.

Her eyes measured him, but in the end, she nodded and said "Alright. And thanks—for the cake."

"You're really welcome," he said.

She turned and walked into the house.

It was Rye's turn in the game, and from the look of things, he was paired up against Johanna. As far as Peeta could tell, the goal was to run the obstacle course in pairs, and whoever lost had to choose between truth or dare, and the winner got to ask the question or assign the dare. Johanna tried to trip Rye right off the starting line, but he recovered and overtook her. They were rounding the tree at the far end of the yard when she jumped on his back and hung on.

Rye laughed, simply hiking her up higher, and he carried her effortlessly as he completed the jog across the yard and over the finish line. Peeta assumed that meant Rye had won, but then when Rye set Johanna down, she had pressed a hand against his chest and pushed him backwards. Rye gave ground, his hands raised in defense, until his back hit the fence. He had a teasing grin on his face, but it disappeared when Johanna snaked her arms around his neck and pulled him in roughly for a kiss.

A _long_ kiss, Peeta observed, pride mingling a little with discomfort. The crowd of teens whooped and hollered at them.

Rye was tense, his hands still raised for a moment, but then he let them drop softly to Johanna's waist, and the kiss became more heated, her hands sliding up into his hair. People were laughing and yelling at them to _get a room already_ when Johanna pulled away.

Peeta couldn't see the look she gave him when she pulled away, but what she did next was unmistakable—she slapped his butt before turning and walking toward the gate.

Kids were laughing, and Rye's face was bright red. "Alright," he called out, waving his hands. "Back to the game. You and you, you're next," he said pointing to two athletic looking guys, and the game started up again.

Peeta caught Rye's eye from across the yard, and Rye offered him a wide-eyed, blushing shrug. Peeta inclined his head toward the gate, but Rye's eyebrows came down in a confused frown. Exaggeratedly, Peeta nodded toward the gate again. Rye glanced over at the gate, and then turned nervously back to his brother. Peeta nodded reassuringly, and then Rye nodded once, decisively, in return before disappearing around the gate himself.

Peeta couldn't help but smile, couldn't help but think that Johanna Mason might do wonders for his brother's self-esteem.

"Excuse me?" someone asked at Peeta's elbow.

"How can I help you?" Peeta asked, turning to the girl in the shimmery purple dress.

She raised her plastic cup. "Is there more water? Because I think I just took the last of it."

Peeta turned around to the beverage table. The pitchers were empty again. "Thanks," he said. "I'll get some more." He toted the empty pitchers inside to the kitchen to refill them.

In the sink, he noticed Katniss's empty tea mug. In an attempt to be a better guest, he carefully washed it, dried it, and put it back in the cupboard where he'd found it. He wondered if Katniss was feeling any better and decided to go and check. Really, any excuse to talk with her, sit with her, or help her—he turned the corner into the living room and froze.

Katniss was still sitting on the couch where he'd left her, but Gale Hawthorne was sitting in the place Peeta had vacated. Gale's hands were woven into her hair.

Worse still—Gale's lips were moving tenderly against hers, and she certainly didn't seem to be stopping him.

 **A/N: Hey! Sorry this is so late in coming. (Also a little sorry for the ending here? But only a very little...)**

 **Updates will need to be irregular from now on because (surprise!) 1) I'm 35 weeks pregnant with my first baby, and consequently 2) I'm now having to spend a lot more time at the doctor's office. The pregnancy is getting a little complicated because of a chronic condition I have, which means more frequent tests and check-ups to make sure baby is well (I've had four doctor's appointments this week alone, and it'll be the same each week from here on out, most likely. But baby is perfectly healthy at the moment—everything we're doing right now is precautionary** **). But boy do all these appointments chip away at my free time! Add to that the nearing of the end of the school term and the ever-looming necessity of paper grading, and I'm going to be one very busy woman for the next month. That said, I'll still be writing and uploading if/when I can, and I do already have everything plotted through to the end of the story, so despair not! I only ask a little extra patience. :)**

 **Thanks for your encouragement and all those "please update!" notes—it's nice to know people are enjoying this story as much as I am. I'm sorry to have to keep you waiting!  
**

 **~Pearl**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Hiiiiiiii sorry this took so long! BabyPearl and I are happy, healthy, and thriving (baby pic in my profile picture, if you're inclined to look). He came into the world without a hitch, but he came two weeks early, catching us a little off guard. I feel like I've been playing catch-up on life ever since. I've been working on this chapter since before he was born, and I worked on it throughout the summer and the fall. For some reason, it was stupidly tricky to write, and required—I kid you not—thirty-three separate rounds of editing to get the pacing, beats, and flow right. And now I send it off to you! Over 10,000 words! Here you go! For those wondering, I think there will be one more chapter after this. :) Enjoy!**

Peeta's fingers fumbled against the latch of the gate. When he finally managed to unhook it, he pushed against the gate, but he was met with solid resistance.

He gave it a shove with his shoulder, but the thing wouldn't budge.

"It hasn't been two hours, kids—" a voice said from the other side. "Sit tight and sober up."

"Rye," Peeta called, his throat tight. "Let me out."

A fumbling noise came from the other side of the gate, and then it swung open a few inches. Peeta pushed through. Rye stood there guiltily, one hand trying to tame his mussed hair and the other busy straightening his shirt. Johanna grinned at him and lit a cigarette, taking a long drag and blowing the smoke out in an even stream.

Peeta's heart was beating fast, but he tried to appear calm. He scuffed his shoe on the gravel. "It's getting late," he said. "And I'm pretty tired."

Rye's eyes shifted to Johanna. "It's not even ten," he said.

He shrugged. "Late night last night, remember?"

"Right," Rye said. "I forgot."

"You mind if we take off?"

Johanna blew out a puff of smoke. "You're going to leave me here alone with the children? I'm a terrible babysitter."

"Yeah, well, don't give them more booze and don't let them leave without a basic sobriety test and a breath mint, and they'll probably be fine," Peeta said.

"Hey now," Rye said, brow furrowing.

Johanna's eyebrows drew down in appraisal. She glanced at Rye. "There appears to be a bee in Blondie's bonnet."

Peeta felt a little bad for his shortness with her, but not bad enough to apologize. "Can we just go?" he asked again.

Rye stepped forward and placed a hand on Peeta's shoulder, ever the protector. "What happened?"

"Nothing," he said, brushing his brother's hand away.

Johanna tapped ash onto the gravel. "Aw, what'd she do?"

"Who?" Rye asked.

"Brainless, of course." When this failed to trigger recognition, Johanna clarified, " _Katniss_."

Rye whipped back to his brother. "Did she say something to you?"

"No," Peeta said.

"After everything you did for her?" Rye pulled his hand through his hair, loosening a few waves from where they had been tied back neatly before—before _Johanna_ , Peeta realized.

"Yeah, okay, great," Peeta said. "This is really helping. Keys?"

Johanna tossed the remains of her cigarette onto the gravel and stomped it out aggressively with her boot. "Katniss does stupid things all the time. How stupid are we talking this time?"

Peeta shook his head. "I don't want to talk about it."

Rye shook his head, anger flashing in his eyes. "I was right. I hate that I was right."

Peeta held his hand out. "Rye, shut up and give me the keys."

"See," Johanna said, squinting at Peeta, "he's mad, but he's not just mad. To me this looks more like—" Johanna crossed her arms and swore under her breath, suddenly serious. "Oh. It was both of them."

"Both of who?" Rye demanded.

"Katniss and Gale," she said. "Right?"

Rye went still, deadly.

"Hold up," Johanna said, grabbing Rye's arm. "Maybe there's an explanation."

Peeta couldn't take anymore. He was done, and he needed out. "I saw them kissing."

" _Each other_?" Johanna hissed. She swore again.

" _Keys_ , Rye," Peeta demanded one last time.

"They're even bigger idiots than I thought," Johanna said, unclipping Rye's keyring from his belt loop and tossing the keys to Peeta. "I'll make sure your brother gets home before he turns into a pumpkin."

"Thanks," Peeta ground out bitterly, his heavy tread crunching loudly on the gravel. His ankle hurt like hell. He paused without turning back. "Please stay out of it. I mean it, Rye."

"I'm sorry they're assholes!" Johanna called after him.

Peeta raised a hand in acknowledgment and took off to find the van.

* * *

At work the next week, Peeta lived in dread of the possibility of seeing Katniss again. She didn't know he'd seen them, didn't know he knew he'd been played. He felt like an idiot—an _angry_ idiot, but an idiot nonetheless. He'd allowed himself to be taken in, and he knew how transparent he'd been about his own feelings. He'd _kissed_ her, for goodness' sake.

The more he thought about it, though, his feelings shifted. She didn't owe him anything—she was her own person, and it wasn't like helping her gave him any right to her time or attention. She was free to like—and kiss—whoever she wanted. But he'd thought she maybe liked _him_. It hurt that she lied to him—that she thought she _needed_ to lie to him—in order for him to help her. He'd thought she was his friend, maybe more, and she'd given him just enough hope to hang himself with. After his anger cooled, he was embarrassed to the roots, and his bitterness left him jaded.

People talked about love as carrying a torch. _Good_ , he thought tiredly. Maybe this icy breeze would finally extinguish the flame.

All day Monday, he'd flinched every time the bell chimed at the door until Rye had decided to forcibly remove him from his front counter duties, steering him into the kitchen. Peeta was more than happy to hide out there, throwing himself into pastries, cakes, bread, and the occasional sandwich order. He kept himself busy so he wouldn't have too much time to devote to his thoughts and feelings.

Still, the sword of Damocles hovered over him: he'd told Prim to come at the end of the week—told her to come and bring her sister for cookies, but told her specifically to come for a surprise he'd intended to make for her, something small he'd thought up in the moment that would last longer than a cookie or a cake. He'd wanted to paint some Romneya for her—just a small canvas, the flowers done up in acrylics. Peeta was nothing if not a man of his word, despite any wrongs he'd suffered. So when he finished his shifts that week, he went home and worked on the painting just in case Prim remembered to come by.

Which she did, on Friday. Peeta heard the bell distantly, and then the sound of a young, female voice. It was after school hours, so Peeta felt a little more prepared for it.

Rye ducked his head around the corner and whispered, " _Prim_."

Peeta froze in his work.

" _Just_ Prim," Rye clarified.

Peeta dusted his hands off on his apron and pinned on his second-best smile. Rye took his place rolling out the piecrust as Peeta grabbed a tray of sugar cookies and took them out to the front.

Prim stood in front of the counter, inspecting the pastry cases.

"Hey, Prim," Peeta greeted. "How are you?"

"Good," she said, straightening up with a smile. "Just admiring. Everything looks so good."

Peeta smiled. "Thanks. My dad and Rye and I do all the baking and decorating ourselves."

"You guys are really talented. I keep thinking about how incredible that cake was."

"I'm glad you liked it."

Prim stepped closer to the counter and rested her hands on it. "It's Peeta, right?"

"Oh, yeah," he said with a gentle laugh. He extended a hand to her. "Peeta Mellark."

She echoed his laughter as she shook his hand. "Katniss told me about you after the party." She leaned in and lowered her voice. "I'm so embarrassed. I don't normally drink— Rory said the alcohol made me a little more blunt than usual."

"Don't worry about it," he said with a half-smile.

"I'm sorry if I came off as rude that night. I was feeling a little protective. I know I'm her younger sister and all, but Katniss doesn't really do relationships. Like, _at all_. And then there you were suddenly at this party, and she had told me nothing about you, and I guess I was a little suspicious. I'm sorry about that."

"Nothing to apologize for," Peeta said. "We're not. In a relationship, that is."

"Oh, that's what she said, too," Prim said. There was a glint in her eye that said she didn't believe either of them, and it made Peeta's jaw clench.

"She had an assignment to work on today for National Geographic," Prim continued. "That's why she couldn't come with me. But she said to say hi and thanks again."

"Just doing my job," Peeta said with a nod.

"Sure," she said, her eyes lighting up, "but she told me about what happened with the cake. Katniss doesn't have a lot of friends, and you seem like a good person."

"It's nothing," he demurred, longing for a change in subject, an armed robbery, the apocalypse—anything to stop talking about him and Katniss.

"Right," she said. Her eyes narrowed as she watched him. "Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks again for the cake. And I hope we didn't scare you off on Saturday."

"Oh." He scratched at his stubble. It didn't seem right to divulge what really happened, so he half-lied. "I was pretty tired from being up all night baking. I left early and went to sleep."

"Katniss said she figured it was something like that." She eyed the tray of cookies he'd laid on the counter. "Are those sugar cookies?"

Peeta's smile returned at her excitement. "They are indeed." He took a paper bag from under the counter and carefully packaged up half a dozen of the delicately frosted treats. He'd painted primroses on them that afternoon. "I have something else for you in the back, if you'll give me a minute."

Prim nodded shyly, and Peeta went to retrieve his gift from his bag. Rye seemed to inspect him for any signs of damage as he passed through the kitchen and into the back room. Peeta just shrugged at him.

"You can make excuses if you need to," Rye said quietly as he came back through the kitchen. "Say you're on a cake deadline or something."

Peeta waved him off.

Prim was halfway through one of the cookies by the time he came out.

"Oh my god," she said, covering her mouth as she spoke. "These are delicious."

Peeta laughed. "They're not just for looks."

"What's in this?" she said, inspecting it more closely.

"Secrets," he said. "But also brown butter and a little bit of crushed bourbon-vanilla toffee."

She pointed her finger at him. "That's genius. I'm beginning to understand why Katniss has been hanging out here the last few weeks."

Peeta shrugged. "She cared a lot about your cake, and we wanted to make sure it was just right." He handed the small package across the counter to her.

"What's this?" she asked.

"Open it," he said. "If you like."

She unfolded the paper and her mouth dropped open. Her fingers touched the canvas in an admiring caress. "This is gorgeous. You _made_ this?"

He stopped himself from shrugging again. "You mentioned at the party what a shame it was that you could only enjoy the cake for such a short while. I kind of love that about cake—that you can have these small, ultra-temporary extravagances in life. But I also understand the desire for something special like that to last a little longer. So I thought of this. Your sister chose those flowers for you."

"Fire-followers," Prim said softly. "I love it."

"I'm glad I could make something you'll enjoy," he said. He glanced up at the clock on the wall, and he hated himself a little for what he said next. "I'm on a little bit of a cake deadline and need to get back, but is there anything else I can help you with?"

"Oh," she said, straightening up a little. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"It's fine," he said, smoothing his hand across the counter.

"Is there—I mean, I thought I'd pick up something for Katniss while I'm here since she couldn't come with. What do you think she'd like?"

A little bolt of pain shot through him, but he did his best to smile as he pulled out another bag and started fishing out cheese buns from the pastry case. "She loves cheese buns," he said, raising his eyebrows at Prim over the counter.

Prim smiled and handed him a five-dollar bill. "Keep the change," she said cheerfully. She leaned toward him and whispered, " _I've always wanted to say that_."

Peeta nodded and thanked her, dropping her change into their tip jar.

"I'll definitely be back," she said. "Good luck with that cake deadline."

He waved as she left, the bells jingling in her wake.

Peeta breathed a sigh of relief and allowed his shoulders to slump.

Rye came up behind him and squeezed his shoulders to loosen them. "You're a better man than me."

"No," Peeta said, turning to him. "You would have done the same."

It was Rye's turn to shrug.

* * *

Monday brought another familiar face to the storefront. Peeta was delivering a sandwich order to a customer when she walked in, setting the bells on the door into a violent cacophony.

Peeta glanced to Rye, who was fixing a tray of cinnamon rolls in one of the pastry cases.

She leaned against the counter, all cool in her ripped jeans and dark blue tank top and combat boots. She raised an eyebrow at Peeta before turning toward Rye. "Forget how to use a phone, Mellark?"

Rye's head popped up so fast it collided with one of the shelves with a loud bang. He winced, holding the injured spot before straightening to face Johanna. "Jo," he said, cheeks reddening.

"So it's not that you forgot my name. So what, then? Misplace my number? Phone line disconnected? Abducted by aliens?"

Rye ran a hand over his hair to smooth it and cleared his throat before dropping his voice. "I, uh, wasn't sure you were serious about wanting me to call."

 _Rye_ , Peeta thought with an internal sigh.

"What a stupid thing to think." She said this dismissively, but not meanly. "I wouldn't have given you my number if I didn't want you to call. What kind of girl do you think I am?"

Rye shrugged and mumbled. "One who's out of my league?" His eyes betrayed such hopeless sincerity that no one could mistake his words for flattery.

"Alright, that'll do," Johanna said with a nod. "You can make it up to me by feeding me some of these stupid pastries I've heard all about." She turned to Peeta. "He's gonna take a half-hour break now."

Peeta glanced to Rye to make sure he was okay with Johanna's plans. From the way he was looking at her, Peeta was assured Rye didn't mind. So he just said, "Give a yell if anyone comes in. I'll be in the kitchen."

Peeta was busy making strawberry buttercream when he heard the bells a few minutes later. He kept an ear out for his brother's voice, but it didn't come. Maybe Johanna left, he thought. But if that were true, it meant things might not have gone well with her and Rye.

Peeta stopped the mixer and went to look into the front—

He ducked back immediately, heart thumping, praying he hadn't been seen.

One glance had shown him Katniss and Prim chatting with Johanna and Rye at their table. Peeta quickly and quietly made his way back to the supply closet to compose himself.

She was here.

He chastised himself for hiding. The only thing he had to hide from was his own embarrassment and the knowledge that she'd led him on.

He should go out there, he told himself. He should face her. _She_ should be the one hiding in embarrassment, not him.

His feet didn't stir from the faded linoleum.

He thumped his head gently against one of the supply shelves and sighed before making his way quietly back into the kitchen. _Coward, coward, coward_ , he accused himself. He went back to work on the buttercream, keeping an ear out for anything from the front.

A few minutes later, the bells chimed again, and Peeta let out a cautious gust of breath. Rye appeared at the doorway a few moments later. In his hands was a vase of flowers, but his face was grim.

Peeta eyed him.

"They left," Rye said.

Peeta nodded.

Rye came and set the vase on the counter. Romneya and lavender.

"They wanted to know if we'll be at the fair next weekend," Rye said. Mellark's had hosted a booth at the fair every year since Peeta could remember.

"What did you tell them?" Peeta asked.

"What could I say?" Rye said. "I told them the truth."

* * *

The fair was always good money for the bakery, and this year was no different. This year, though, they were unprepared for what seemed to be a sudden run on baked goods. They'd sold out of cheese buns within the first two hours on the first day, and the sugar cookies went shortly after that. Customers periodically asked for them throughout the day, but Peeta and Rye had little trouble convincing them to try something else.

By two o'clock, though, they were almost completely sold out of everything.

"I don't remember it ever being like this," Rye said between customers.

Peeta handed a middle-aged woman a lemon poppyseed muffin across the counter and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. "That was the last of the muffins."

Rye surveyed the meager offerings they had left. "We'll be closed in less than half an hour unless we restock. Do you think you could call Delly?" Delly had sometimes helped them in years past, though more for company than out of need.

Peeta pulled out his phone and rung Delly while Rye helped the next customer.

"Hey, Peet," came Delly's cheerful voice over the phone.

"Hey, Dells. Are you at the fair?"

"Duh. It's date night."

"Oh, right. So you probably couldn't come cover for Rye for an hour or two, then."

"Actually," she paused. "Darius and his friends want to try the Triple Tornado before his shift starts, and I don't particularly feel like hurling my guts up. So what the hell. When do you need me?"

"As soon as they can spare you," he said.

She laughed. "They already took off to get in line. I'll head right over."

Delly arrived looking fair-ready in little denim shorts and a blue gingham top that showed off her shoulders. She threw her hair up into a messy bun and donned Rye's apron.

"Wow, is there a gluten famine or something?" she asked, surveying what was left.

"We're just really popular this year for some reason," Peeta said.

Delly eyed him curiously.

"What?" he asked.

She shook her head, but she pursed her lips thoughtfully as she turned to the front table to take an order.

Delly was a natural at food service, and Peeta enjoyed working with her. They laughed and joked with the customers and bumped into each other on purpose just for fun.

Delly was jabbing Peeta in the ribs with her tongs when Prim Everdeen materialized at the front of the line.

"Hi, Peeta," Prim said with a smile.

"Hey Prim," he said, swatting Delly's tongs away with a laugh. "What can I get for you?"

Prim surveyed the nearly empty cases, her face falling. "I was hoping you'd still have some cheese buns and sugar cookies?"

"We're all out," he said. "But Rye should be back in an hour or so with more if you want to come back in a little bit."

"Oh," she said with a little shrug. "Has Katniss come by yet?"

Peeta could feel Delly scrutinizing him.

"I haven't seen her," he said.

Prim's eyebrows drew down. "Hm. She was working this morning, but she should be here somewhere now. I know she was planning on stopping by."

Peeta wished Delly would stop looking at him. "I'll keep an eye out for her," he said simply. "Fresh sugar cookies soon, though! Don't wait too long, or we might sell out again."

Prim gave him a suddenly sly smile that lit up her eyes. "Oh, I'll definitely make sure I get some," she said with a wave. She wandered off in the direction of the carnival games.

Delly poked him in the ribs again with her tongs.

"That's not sanitary," Peeta said, swatting her hand away again.

"I thought you were mad at Katniss," she said, putting the tongs under the counter and grabbing a new pair.

He sighed. "I am."

"So then what are you doing?"

"It's not Prim's fault," he said.

"Okay," Delly replied with an eyebrow raised.

"And what am I supposed to do—refuse to sell Katniss any cheese buns if she comes by?"

"Maybe," Delly said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Because that wouldn't be petty or anything…"

She shoved his shoulder.

They sold the last of the pastries in the next few minutes and had to turn the rest of the customers in line away with the promise of more pastries in an hour or so.

Peeta leaned against the counter and wiped the sweat from his brow. "I don't understand why we're so popular this year."

Delly smirked. "Not even a guess?"

He frowned. "Why, do you know something?"

Delly dug her phone out of her back pocket. "You really should get an Instagram," she said as she scrolled. She handed him her phone.

On the screen was a picture of a couple of cheese buns and sugar cookies artfully arranged, the Mellark's bag they came in tucked just so under a corner of the plate. A steaming mug of tea and a nosegay of daisies completed the picture, making everything seem just a little more special. Below the photo was a caption:

 _themockingjay: I'm new to the food photography scene, but I couldn't resist—everything from #MellarksBakery is incredible. The cheese buns are my new favorite thing, and Prim adores the sugar cookies. (Prim set the table and plate up for this photo. Didn't she do a great job?) Mellark's will be at the #PanemCountyFair this weekend, so be sure to check them out! I know I'll be there!_

Peeta's cheeks went hot, and he wiped at his forehead again with his sleeve. "This is…"

"Katniss's Instagram," Delly confirmed.

"But you don't really think this one picture is why people are coming, do you?" he asked.

Delly swiped up to show him Katniss's follower count at the top of her page, and Peeta's eyes bulged at the number.

"Katniss Everdeen is Instagram famous?" he asked.

"It's not like she's a Kardashian or something, but she's got her own following" Delly said. "You didn't know?"

Peeta shook his head. He took the phone back from Delly and started browsing through Katniss's pictures. There were cute photos of her and Prim out and about, and some stunning nature scenes and shots of wildlife, but the really popular pictures seemed to be stunt shots—her and Gale in the forest doing daring and dangerous things, like hanging one-handed out of trees or balancing precariously on boulders or peering over the edges of cliffs. The shots really were incredible—they were the kind of pictures that gave you a thrill just looking at them.

"Well, shit," he said, rubbing at the back of his head.

"Right?" Delly asked. She took her phone back and scrolled back down to the cheese bun picture. "She's a great photographer, but I think connecting with NatGeo really boosted her visibility."

She tapped the MellarksBakery hashtag, and they watched as the screen loaded with several more pictures from different users. It looked like they were almost all from that day at the fair, and some of them even included covert shots of Peeta or Rye or Delly.

Peeta tapped on one of the pictures of him and Rye working the counter and read the caption:

 _panemnm: Is it just me, or is it hot over here at the #MellarksBakery booth? ;) Thanks for the rec, themockingjay #PanemCountyFair #ThreeAlarmFire #BakerBoys #CameForThePies #StayedForTheGuys_

"Okay, that's embarrassing," Peeta said. "Put it away."

Delly slipped the phone back into her pocket. "I kind of can't believe you didn't know," she said.

"I'm not on Instagram," he said with a shrug. "And anyway, it doesn't mean anything. She's probably just trying to pay me back for all the trouble with the cake."

"Okay," Delly said.

Rye returned eventually with the van and a respectable resupply of goods, but there were fewer customers now, as word seemed to have spread that they'd sold out. Peeta was actually grateful for the slower pace. Delly stuck around for a little while and helped them unload, but she eventually returned to Darius and his friends.

Rye also disappeared after another hour or so, when Johanna came by and collected him with Peeta's blessing. The afternoon was waning, and Peeta enjoyed the quiet. He hummed to himself as he wiped down the booth's counter and restocked the plates, napkins, and forks. He squatted to retrieve his orange soda from under the counter and took several gulps.

"Peeta?"

Peeta startled, like he often did around her, but managed not to spill his soda this time. He contemplated staying where he was, hidden behind the counter, but he'd chosen the coward's way once before. He took a deep breath in and out, and then stood as gracefully as he could. "Hey, Katniss," he said.

She was wearing a black shirt and shorts with black tennis shoes, but she had her hair in two braids today. It reminded Peeta of when they were in elementary school. She looked young—and happy, he realized. Well, good for her.

Peeta allowed his face to settle into a friendly, customer service smile. He could do this. "Can I get you something?"

"Oh," she said, her eyebrows furrowing a little. "Prim said you guys ran out of cheese buns."

"Actually, we just restocked. How many would you like?"

Her frown deepened. "Two, I guess. And two sugar cookies for Prim, if you have them."

Peeta opened a pastry bag with his tongs and popped the cheese buns into it, then did the same with a second bag and the sugar cookies. He folded down their tops and handed them over with a couple of napkins. "That'll be eight dollars. We have to raise the prices at the fair to cover costs, so it's more than it would be back at the bakery. Sorry."

Katniss shrugged and pulled out her wallet. She handed over two five-dollar bills, and he tucked them away in the till and handed her her change.

"So Prim said Delly was working here earlier," Katniss said. She pinched a piece off of one of the cheese buns and popped it into her mouth.

"Yeah," Peeta said simply. "I called her in for backup when Rye went back to the bakery to restock."

Katniss glanced around at the non-existent line of customers. "You guys were busy?"

"Yep. We sold out around three. Thanks for that, by the way."

"For…?"

"Delly showed me your Instagram post."

"Oh," she said, her cheeks flushing. "I didn't mean to—I'm not used to having so many followers. It's kind of new."

He nodded. "That's what Delly said. NatGeo."

"Right," she said. "Anyway, I didn't mean to cause a stir, and I'm sorry if it caught you guys off guard. I'll try to be more careful. Give you guys a heads-up or something."

He shrugged. "Business is business. Speaking of—" he nodded toward a mother and daughter who were approaching the booth.

"Oh, yeah," Katniss said. She stepped to the side.

Peeta helped the daughter pick out a cupcake, and then suggested another cupcake flavor to the mother.

"Actually," the woman said, "do you have any sugar cookies? Somebody recommended them."

Peeta avoided looking at Katniss. "Yeah, let me grab one. They're pretty popular."

When he turned back around, the daughter was squeezing the mother's hand and pointing shyly to Katniss. The mother gently pushed her daughter toward Katniss.

"Excuse me?" the girl said.

Katniss startled and took another step away from the counter. "Oh, sorry," she said. "I'm in the way."

"No," the girl said. "But you look like—" She looked back at her mom who smiled and raised her eyebrows in encouragement. "Are you the Mockingjay?"

Katniss's eyes shot to Peeta in a panic. He didn't know what kind of answers she expected from him. He just shrugged.

"Uh, yeah," she said. "I'm Katniss."

"I'm Isabelle," the girl said with a smile.

"Hi!" the mom said, stepping toward them. "We're really enjoying the fair! We drove an hour to come here because of your post. I'm Catalina." She extended her hand out to Katniss, who shook it. "Would you mind if I take a picture of you with my daughter? She's a big fan."

"Oh, sure," Katniss said, surprised. She crouched down and put her arm around the girl, smiling in a stunned sort of way until the picture had been taken.

"I really love your animal pictures. I want to work with animals when I grow up," the girl confided.

"That's great!" Katniss said. "We need more people to help watch out for them."

"Do you mind if I post this?" the mother asked.

"Go ahead," Katniss said. "It was nice meeting you."

"Thanks, and thanks for the recommendation," she said. She paid Peeta, and then they left, the little girl waving goodbye and looking moon-eyed back at Katniss.

Katniss turned back toward Peeta, her lips pressed hard together. "I swear that's the first time that's happened."

She'd handled it pretty well, he thought. "Well, then you're a natural."

"It's really weird," she said. "I never intended that kind of thing."

He shrugged. "Is there any harm in it?"

She thought about this. "I guess not. As long as everyone leaves Prim alone."

Peeta took out his cleaning cloth and wiped down the counter again, just to give himself something to do. When he glanced back at Katniss, she was still standing there, watching him work. "You don't need to get back to your friends?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I was hanging out with Madge for a little while, but she had to get home. I'm here by myself now."

He scrubbed at a permanent spot he'd already scrubbed at four or five times that day. "Did you ride all the rides already?"

"A few," she said.

 _Why are you still here?_ is what he was thinking, but instead he said, "What are you going to do next?"

She straightened a little. "Well, I wanted to make sure I got these." She lifted the pastry bags. "Prim called me and specifically asked me to come by and get her some sugar cookies. And then Johanna texted and said she'd stolen your brother and you were here alone, so I thought I'd come keep you company."

Peeta felt like he had static in his ears. He inwardly cursed Prim and Johanna for meddling as he tucked the cleaning cloth under the counter. "You don't have to do that."

She offered him a half-shrug. "I haven't seen you in a few weeks."

Another customer stepped up then, and Peeta helped him choose some treats for his family. Katniss didn't move away this time—she just watched him until the man left.

"So I came by the bakery three different times since Prim's party, but you weren't there," she said when the man had gone. "Did Rye tell you?"

This was news to Peeta. He rubbed the back of his arm across his forehead. "He only mentioned once."

"He said you were working the night shift."

"I was," he said. "One of us typically switches shifts the week before the fair to help my dad prepare."

"Oh," she said. "So you're probably pretty tired."

He shrugged. "It's not so bad. I got to sleep in during the day." Peeta helped two teenage boys, and then a family of four. When he finished, Katniss was just watching him. He raised his eyebrows at her.

She shook her head. "What time do you get off?"

Peeta's eyebrows went up now in surprise, but he tried to quickly smother the feeling. From anyone else, that kind of question would be an invitation, but surely that wasn't how Katniss Everdeen meant it. Not to him, not now. "I'm here until closing, or as long as we have pastries," he said evenly.

She nodded. Two groups of young teens descended on the booth, and Peeta patiently began sorting through their orders. By the time he finished with the first group, a line had formed behind the second group.

"I can take whoever's next," Katniss said suddenly from beside him. She'd donned Rye's apron and was wiping her newly washed hands on a paper towel.

"You really don't have to," Peeta said.

"I said I was going to keep you company," she said simply. Her eyes were silver and steadfast, and the corner of her mouth twitched up in the quietest whisper of a smile. "And besides, it's not fair of your brother to ditch you when you're this busy."

"I told him I could handle it, and we weren't busy until just now," he said. But he let his objections die there. The line was only getting longer now.

They figured out pretty quickly that they couldn't work independently, as Katniss didn't know the pastries well enough. So Peeta took orders and made suggestions while Katniss bagged whatever Peeta pointed her to and helped take the money. The rush hardly let up over the course of the next two hours, and several times customers stopped and asked Katniss for a picture. She always obliged, leaning over the counter to smile for a selfie.

Within another hour and a half, they were having to turn people away again.

"Sorry folks," Peeta called to the rest of the people in line. "Come back tomorrow morning for more, or visit the bakery in town!"

Katniss waved to them alongside him until the line cleared. A few disappointed stragglers came up to ask for pictures with her, and she agreed, snagging Peeta and pulling him into the picture with them.

"They don't know who I am," Peeta said through his smile as they froze for another selfie.

"Everyone, this is Peeta Mellark," she said as they finished the pictures. "He's one of the bakers, and he makes the most incredible cakes you've ever seen in your life."

People thanked them and promised to visit the bakery in town, and then it was just Peeta and Katniss, alone again.

She turned to him and blew out her breath in a long stream. "That was exhausting. I don't know how you do that all day."

"We're not usually that busy," he said. "I guess word spread that we'd restocked."

Katniss checked her phone. "Oh yeah. It looks like that lady posted the picture with her daughter right after they left. I probably should have asked her to wait to post it until tonight," she said. "I didn't mean to draw a crowd."

"Closing up early isn't so bad," he said with a shrug. He pulled his soda cup from under the counter and sipped the warm, watery dregs. It made his nose scrunch up a little in disgust.

"What do you need to do to close up?" Katniss asked.

He tossed his cup into the trash. "Empty the till, clean the cases, clean the counters, take the trash to the dumpsters, gather up all the tongs and dishes and aprons and dishcloths to load into the van so we can wash and sterilize them at the bakery tonight—I think that's it."

"Well," she said, "I'm dying of thirst, so how about I go get us some drinks, and then I'll come back and help."

"You don't have to—"

"Peeta," she said. "Just let me help, okay?"

Peeta stared at her, trying to understand, trying to figure out what she wanted from him. He gleaned no answers, so instead he went to the till to retrieve some money. He held out thirty dollars.

She plucked a ten-dollar bill from his hand. "Um, I'm pretty sure the sodas here are only three bucks each."

"No," he said. "I meant, you know, for your time."

Katniss pocketed the ten dollars with a smile. "You can pay me the rest later in cheese buns." She jogged off toward another vendor's stand.

Finally left to himself, Peeta contemplated calling Delly to help bail him out. He hadn't exactly been bursting with charm for the last few hours, but Katniss seemed determined to stick around anyway. Was she just bored? Waiting for Prim? And where was Gale? In the end, he decided to ride it out and just started cleaning the cases.

Katniss returned with a root beer, an orange soda, and a steaming, overloaded plate of Irish nachos. She hopped up on the counter and patted the spot next to her. "Take a break," she said. "These things taste like shit if you let them get cold." The sun was setting behind her so that she was haloed by the golden-orange light.

Peeta leaned against the counter instead and took a long sip of his soda.

"Seriously, you're not going to make me eat these alone, are you?" she asked after a minute, pushing the plate closer to him.

They did smell good. He picked up a fry, blew on it, and took a bite. Hot carbs covered in melted cheese— _god_ , did it get any better than that? He realized he'd forgotten to eat lunch because they'd been so busy, and he'd eaten breakfast before six that morning. He was starving, now that he thought of it. He ate another fry, and another.

"Here, try it with this," she said, pushing a condiment cup toward him.

He dipped a fry into the cup, and then raised it up to smell it. It smelled like dill and something spicy.

"Sriracha ranch," she said around a mouthful.

Peeta's eyes closed involuntarily as he savored the flavor. They polished off the plate in no time.

"Thanks," Peeta said, taking another long sip of his soda. "I didn't realize how badly I needed that."

Katniss nodded. "I know what hunger looks like."

The comment, offhanded as it was, made Peeta's stomach sink. But she didn't seem to think much of it.

She tossed the empty plate into the trash. "How about you take care of the register, and I'll finish up the cases and the counter?"

"Sure," Peeta said.

They worked alongside each other in companionable silence. As they were loading up the utensils and things into the van, Peeta finally spoke.

"So are you just waiting around for Prim tonight?"

She looked over at him. "No, Rory's bringing her home later."

"No Gale?" He tried to sound cool and collected, like it didn't matter to him who she hung out with or kissed or whatever.

Katniss shifted the box in her hands. "We're not really talking right now," she said with a frown.

They were in another fight, he supposed. Maybe that explained why she was here with him. "So what are you going to do with the rest of your evening?"

She placed her box into the van in the space Peeta had cleared for it. "It depends."

"On?" He closed the doors.

She shrugged. "You," she said.

Above them, the fluorescent lights of the vendors' parking lot were just starting to flicker to life for the evening. The sounds of the fair filtered to them through the distance, highlighting the silence that fell between them.

Peeta rubbed at the back of his neck. "Katniss…"

"You're free now, right? Everything's cleaned up and put away," she said shyly. She tucked her hands into the back pockets of her shorts and rocked a little on the outsides of her feet.

He shook his head. "What are you doing? What is this?" he asked, finally voicing his frustration.

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

He ran a hand through his hair. "I mean, you show up out of the blue, no warning, and suddenly want to hang out. I appreciate the help and everything, but forgive me if I'm a little confused."

"I tried to come see you," she said defensively. "You were always gone, so I figured I'd come at a time when I was sure you'd be around."

"That's not what—" he swallowed. He scrubbed at his face and turned away for a second. "I need to tell you something."

When he turned back to her, her movement had stilled. Her face betrayed no small measure of anxiety.

Peeta took a deep breath. "At Prim's party," he said. "I saw you. And Gale. I didn't mean to."

She was still like a sparrow is still when you move too close, the moment right before it takes to the air. Her face looked pale in the fluorescent light. At last she said, "You left without saying goodbye."

He didn't deny it.

"You've been avoiding me," she said softly.

He didn't deny that either. But it made his stomach feel like someone was wringing it out.

Katniss brushed a loose lock of hair behind her ear and stared at her shoes. "I guess I don't blame you."

Peeta nodded, jaw tight. "So look," he said. "You don't have to pretend anymore. I get it. I'm tired and I'm just going to head home now. Thanks again for your help."

Katniss reached out and held on to his arm as if to stop him from leaving. She shook her head earnestly. "I wasn't."

He stared at her. "Wasn't what?"

"Pretending," she said.

The static was back in his head. "What do you mean?"

She rolled her eyes a little, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "I'm not trying to be cryptic, Peeta."

He frowned, trying to make sense of what she was saying. "So… so I wasn't just imagining that you were interested—"

"No," she said quickly.

"Then tell me," Peeta said gently, fidgeting with his keys, afraid to ask what he needed to ask. "Why were you—why did you—"

She shook her head. "I was confused."

He paused. "About me?"

"Sort of," she said.

On instinct, he pulled away from her, but she held on to his sleeve. " _Please_ let me explain," she begged, her voice breaking in her earnestness. Her eyes pled with him to trust her.

And because he was a fool… and because there was a glimmer of hope… and because that's what a friend would do… Peeta took his keys and opened the passenger door of the van. Katniss frowned, confused.

"We're not going anywhere," he said. "I'm just tired, and my leg hurts, so I'd like to sit if that's okay."

She nodded and climbed into the van. He shut the door and went around to the driver's side. He took a deep breath in and let it out before opening the door and climbing in himself. He turned the key in the ignition so he could roll the windows down a little, and then he took the keys out and placed them on the dash. Neither of them looked at each other.

"So," he said.

Katniss blew out a breath. "I don't know where to start. I haven't told anyone this before."

"Because it's embarrassing?" he asked.

She shook her head and looked at him. "Because I didn't figure it out until recently. I'm kind of _still_ figuring it out."

Peeta nodded as he tried to process this. "Okay."

Katniss took another big breath and let it out. Then she started to talk. "My dad died, but you know that. What I mean is, he died, and things were really bad. I had to take care of me and Prim and my mom, and I was just a kid, you know? And that went on for _years_. I didn't get a break—not until about two years ago when my mom was finally well enough again to get and keep a job. But it still didn't feel safe yet. Even now, I still feel like I'm waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under us."

Peeta nodded gently.

She swallowed. "People at school started dating, and I was working two jobs and foraging and hunting and cooking and taking care of my sister."

He puzzled over this, trying to follow where she was going. "You were too busy to date, you mean?"

"I didn't even _think_ about it," she said. "I mean, I watched my mom fall apart when my dad died, so I saw what relationships could do to people. But it wasn't that I was refusing to be in a relationship on principle—I actually figured that part of me was, I don't know, _broken_."

She suddenly looked a great deal smaller sitting in the seat next to him. Vulnerable, he realized. He'd never seen Katniss Everdeen really vulnerable before. Peeta turned in his seat to face her better. "Broken how?"

"Like it didn't work. Like I wasn't like other people." She pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them to her. "Like other people were attracted to each other enough to kiss and date and have sex, and I felt nothing for anybody ever, not in that way. It didn't even occur to me to think that way."

He blinked. "You don't find people attractive?"

She tipped her head to the side. "I can tell when people are attractive, like, _objectively_ , but it doesn't make me want to do anything about it. I'm not attracted _to_ them."

He thought about this for a minute. "Different doesn't mean broken, you know. Maybe you're asexual. Or maybe aromantic, or both," he suggested quietly. But if that were true, why had she let him kiss her? And why had she kissed Gale?

Her cheeks went red, but she nodded. "I didn't have the vocabulary for a long time. It _felt_ like being broken, like I was wired wrong or someone forgot to install a switch or something. Until a few weeks ago."

Peeta stilled, his pulse pounding in his ears. "What happened?"

She rubbed at her face with her hands, and her voice came out rough. "There was this cake I needed," she said. "And this baker."

Peeta laughed breathlessly, avoiding her eyes. "Tell me more."

"Remember that first tasting?" she asked.

He nodded.

"I thought I didn't like cake," she said. "Then I tried it again, and all of a sudden, I liked it."

He nodded again.

"It was like that," she said softly.

He dared a glance at her. She was biting her lip. Did she mean… Or was that just a metaphor? "What do you mean?" he asked.

"It was a lot of things," she said. She traced her finger along a crack in the dash. "You were always good-looking, and kind, and generous, and charming. But none of that meant anything to me. Not until—I don't know when. It didn't mean anything, and then it did. It was like—like math, almost."

There were revelations aplenty here to sustain Peeta for months to come, but it came as such a surprise that all he could do was bark out a little laugh. " _Math_?"

She pushed on the dash with her fist a little, embarrassed but determined to be understood. "Imagine you could never do addition or something. Something really basic. One day it was all just numbers, and you could understand that they combined in some way to make this new number, but you couldn't tell how. And then, all of a sudden, the next day it made sense. Suddenly three plus two started to equal five, except with feelings."

"I think I understand," he said.

"You do?"

He tried to formulate what he wanted to say. "Maybe you didn't have room for romantic feelings and experiences before. Because you were worrying about keeping the lights on and keeping your family fed and together." He remembered something like that from a psych class he'd taken in college—a hierarchy of needs. "It'd be pretty hard to think about school crushes when you're literally trying to survive."

She chewed at her fingernail and stared at a spot on the dash. "Maybe. They were really good feelings, though. They made me want more, and then it was scary because I wasn't sure what more I wanted. The more time I spent with you, the scarier it got, but—this is so stupid. I don't know how to say it—even the _scary_ was good, I think. Like climbing too high in a tree or looking over the edge of a cliff."

 _Like the threat of falling_ , Peeta realized with a little awe. The muscles of his throat started to constrict. "And when I kissed you?" he asked softly. It was the first time either of them had spoken of it. Peeta listened to her breathing hitch.

She was silent long enough, her hands covering her face, that it worried him. "Katniss?" he prompted.

She cringed and forced the words out. "I thought I'd let you kiss me because what the hell, I'd never done it before, and I liked you, and maybe it wouldn't be so bad."

Peeta's brows shot up. That was damning. _Her first kiss?_ He wished he'd known.

Katniss misinterpreted his surprise. "It wasn't bad—it was _good_ , I mean. At least I think. I don't have a lot to compare it to. It just freaked me out how much I liked it."

Peeta shook his head and held his hand up. "I wasn't fishing for compliments. It just surprised me."

"That I liked it?"

He laughed. "Maybe, but I meant that it was your first kiss. I figured…"

"What?" she asked. "That I've kissed a lot of people? Most people I know aren't into surly and snarling and stubborn, Peeta."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Katniss, we probably could have filled the football stadium with all the people who had crushes on you in junior high and high school, and you're the only person I know who would have been surprised by the fact. You have no idea."

She brushed this off.

"I'm being serious. You're passionate, brave, and capable." He cleared his throat. "Not to mention the most beautiful person I've seen, far away or close up."

Katniss's cheeks flushed deeply red. She pulled away and slouched back against the seat, her knees pulled in tight to her chest. She seemed to be trying to cool her face with the back of her hand.

"You okay?" Peeta asked gently.

She nodded. "I'm just not used to feeling like this. It's too much. It feels good and bad at the same time."

"That sounds confusing," he said.

"It is," she said. She picked at a frayed edge of her sneaker. "That's basically my point, anyway—you were my first kiss, Peeta, and I liked it, and I wanted more. It was like I'd been living in a box, and then the walls got knocked down, and suddenly there was this whole _world_ out there I'd never known about. And I thought, hell, maybe I'm not broken after all. I just didn't like cake, and now I do. Or I did for a little while, at least."

Peeta's heart sunk, and he paused, blinking. "You don't anymore?"

She rubbed her hands over her face. "Here's the thing. We kiss, I freak out, I go home and can't stop thinking about it, can't stop _feeling_ it, over and over again. On top of that, I'm exhausted. We pull off Prim's party, and the cake, and everything is going surprisingly well despite the hiccup with the punch. And there you are being cool and sweet and a good friend, and _I_ feel like I'm falling downhill and can't stop. I kept wanting to find ways to touch you and be near you, more more _more_ , which felt so patently absurd given that less than twenty-four hours prior, we'd hardly come within a foot of one another. It was overwhelming and confusing and exhausting—and then there was Gale, suddenly being sweet for once, bringing me tea and apologizing for picking fights and telling me I'm a good sister to Prim. And I'd had a little to drink, and he put his arm around me, and—"

Peeta held up his hand. "I think I got it."

"No," she insisted, pulling his hand down. "I kept wondering if I was being crazy, or if something had really changed. Maybe I really would have liked kissing all along but hadn't known because I hadn't tried it, or maybe it was like cake, and my tastes had only recently changed. And I knew Gale liked me. I thought that maybe if I let him kiss me, I'd like it, and then I'd start to like him, too. It seemed—I don't know— _saner_ somehow, because we'd known each other so long, and everyone seemed to think it was just a matter of time before we'd get together anyway. I didn't ask him to kiss me—I just didn't look away or move away or change the subject when he gave me that look he gives me sometimes. I let him—and I kissed him back to see what would happen, but Peeta—" she gripped his hand and looked up at him earnestly. "There wasn't anything there."

He studied her. "No?"

Katniss shook her head, worry and fear playing across her face. "All I could think about was how weird kissing is, how it's just mashing your lips and tongue against someone else's, and how this was my best friend's lips and tongue, and I couldn't get my brain to stop. There weren't any of those feelings from before—I thought there should be, if there would be with anyone, since Gale and I are so close, but there was _nothing_ , and it was maybe even kind of gross." She finished this somewhat breathlessly and held his hand tightly, waiting for him to say something.

Peeta measured her with his eyes. "For real?"

She nodded. "For real."

He bit his lip, thinking. If that was it—if what he'd witnessed had been nothing more than her confused attempt to understand what was happening to her—he couldn't really hold it against her. The knowledge filled him with a sense of relief, but there were still edges that needed to be smoothed. He cleared his throat. "So let me get this straight," he said. "You were using Gale as an experiment to see if what you were feeling was just a fluke?"

She let go of his hand. "When you say it like that, it sounds kind of awful."

"It _is_ awful, isn't it? How does Gale feel about it?"

She squirmed. "Like I said, we aren't exactly talking right now."

"Because you kissed?"

"That's one reason. But give it a few weeks and we'll be back to normal. Gale and I are always hot and cold."

Peeta shook his head. "Seems a little optimistic to me. You don't get over Katniss Everdeen in just a few weeks. At least I couldn't."

Her face fell. "You tried?"

Peeta nodded. "I was hurt. Still kind of am, to be honest." He frowned. "What if it had worked?"

"What do you mean?" she asked.

Peeta stared hard at the dials on the dashboard. "If you had kissed Gale and had started to have feelings for him. You'd be with him, wouldn't you?"

She was silent for a moment, and the silence sounded to Peeta like an answer of its own.

"Katniss," he said with a sigh, "I like you. But I don't want to be your second choice."

"I like _you_ ," she countered.

And as much as he'd wanted to hear those words from her, dreamed it in every possible and impossible scenario, he said, "But you like Gale, too, at least on some level. You wouldn't have let him kiss you if you hadn't wanted it to work."

Her mouth dropped open in protest. "I don't have feelings for him," she insisted.

"But you wanted to?"

She sighed and leaned her head back against the headrest. "I can't give Gale what he wants. There's this nagging sense of guilt when I'm with him. I thought maybe it would make things easier for us if suddenly now I could want him the way he wants me. And I know you'll say guilt isn't a good basis for a relationship, but he's my best friend, and I want him to be happy, too. It would have been convenient if we could have made each other happy, but we can't, so that's that."

"Convenience isn't a good basis for a relationship either," he said. "But I understand the urge to try to make someone else happy."

After a few moments of silence, she said, "Maybe that's the difference."

"What is?"

"Convenience. Gale and I work together, and we live near each other, and our siblings are dating each other, and we have a shared history and interests in common. With you, I find myself going out of my way just to see you, doing things I've never done before, stepping beyond my comfort zone. That has to mean something, doesn't it?" She turned to him. "I _missed_ you, Peeta. Not seeing you for three weeks felt like a small eternity. I missed your smile and your jokes and seeing you make beautiful things, and—" She cut herself off, her cheeks glowing red.

"And?" he prompted.

Her mouth hung open for a second. "Your eyelashes."

His eyebrows went up, and a smile slid up half his face. "My eyelashes?"

She covered her face with her hands. "Never mind."

Peeta laughed and pulled one of her hands away. "No, no, no! Don't be embarrassed. My eyelashes. That's fine."

"I haven't had any practice at this. Don't make fun of me," she said sadly, pulling her hand away from him.

"I'm not," he said, still smiling. He leaned back against the driver's seat and stretched. "Honest. If it makes you feel any better, I've always had a thing for your eyes. And your hair. And your voice. To be really honest, I've been a fan of the whole Katniss Everdeen package since about the first grade."

"I'm sorry I kissed Gale," she said. "I shouldn't have done it. But I didn't know how else to figure out what was happening to me."

He shrugged. "You could have tried kissing me again."

Her face glowed bright red. "I didn't know how to make it happen again."

"How to make what happen?"

Her eyes flitted away. "How to make you want to kiss me again."

He laughed gently, an unimaginable lightness filling him to the brim. He leaned in and brushed a piece of hair away from her face. "I pretty much always want to kiss you."

" _Shit_ ," she said, pulling away.

He smiled sympathetically. "Too much?"

She nodded, fanning her face with her hand. "How do people do this?"

"It tempers over time," he offered. "The feelings aren't always as intense as they are at first."

She wrinkled her nose. "So eventually kissing you might be like kissing Gale?"

Peeta thought about it. "It might. That happens sometimes. But most people who stay in love say that it changes over time, but it doesn't diminish. You don't have the same rush of feelings all the time, but you do from time to time, and the feelings of love and support and being known that you have the rest of the time are just as good, if not better."

"But that's _love_ , that's not—"

"I've had a long time to figure it out," Peeta said, his fingers tracing the seams on the steering wheel. "It's okay if you don't know for a while."

" _Oh_ ," she said quietly. Her eyes shifted, taking him in head to toe, almost as if she were seeing him for the first time. They came to rest on his lips. "What if I kiss you again, and I don't feel anything?" She said it so quietly that it was nearly a whisper.

Peeta sensed her fear. He gripped and released the wheel. "You don't ever have to if you don't want to."

She took a deep breath and swallowed. "What if I want to?"

Peeta turned to her, took her hand, and softly pressed it to his lips. He smiled, because it was impossible not to. He said, "I think you should probably take me on a date first."


End file.
